


Tabula Rasa

by minwrathous



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Crushes, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Memory Loss, Not Really Character Death, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 17:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 82,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12325818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minwrathous/pseuds/minwrathous
Summary: After months of separation, Fenris travels to Skyhold in search of Garrett Hawke. He arrives too late.But time moves onward, and Fenris must move with it. Until, that is, an unexpected discovery pulls him back toward something he thought he'd lost forever.Now, if only he could remember...





	1. Six Months Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I just wanted to take a little time here to say a few words about my story. I know that I’ve written something that has a sad beginning, and I personally have trouble reading them sometime because I don’t like sad endings. But I also know that I don’t plan having one of those - my story will be an ‘Angst with a Happy Ending’ story.
> 
> Also, this story doesn’t have tags that mark past or secondary relationships.
> 
> I know it’s not a little thing to ask for, but I’m going to ask that you trust me.

Fenris stood at the gates of the fortress before him and looked up. He could see the eyes of the Inquisition staring at him from the banners that were hung above the open gate. _Skyhold_ , they called it. It was like he could feel those eyes burning into him.

He clenched his fists and glared back at them. The banners snapped in the cold mountain wind, and Fenris grudgingly admitted that the keep seemed impressive enough.

Deep down, Fenris knew that the Inquisition was not to blame for the fact he was alone. Hawke had been the one who had made the decision to aid them. It was Hawke who had been insistent that he needed to go alone. Hawke, who had argued and pleaded with him.

_Six months. Just give me six months, Fen_ , he’d begged. Something in his voice had torn at Fenris.

Fenris had relented then and given Hawke his time. It was the most the mage had been able to coax out of him. Six months to go and play the hero again. The Champion. Only this time, Hawke would be without him. Alone.

They’d parted on a sunny morning in the northern Marches. _Six months,_ Hawke had said, and kissed Fenris. It was a promise, and while Fenris loathed it, he allowed it because he knew Hawke always kept his promises.

 _I will wait._ Their breath mingled as Fenris murmured his own promise. They were still close together, lips almost touching. _Six months, then I come to you._ Hawke had huffed out a laugh and kissed him again.

 _Yes_.

It would do.

Their letters had been infrequent; neither knew for sure where the other would be at any given time. Fenris kept all of Hawke’s letters to him bound together in a pouch. When he felt too alone at night, he often pulled them out and re-read them by firelight.

And then one day, there were no more new letters from Hawke.

It was to be expected, wasn’t it? Hawke had mentioned traveling west into the desert in his last letter. It would be hard to send word from the desert. Besides, Hawke’s time was almost up.

Six months. Fenris had given Hawke his time alone.

Soon after, Fenris set out for Skyhold to collect his lover.

“Serah,” a voice called, pulling Fenris from his thoughts.

Fenris looked toward the voice. There was a human man watching him expectantly from the guard post just ahead of him. The guard waved to him and Fenris begrudgingly moved toward him.

“Welcome to Skyhold, Serah. What brings you here today?” the guard asked. If he was surprised by the markings on Fenris’s face and neck, he showed no sign of it. Instead, the human was eyeing the large sword strapped to his back.

“I have business with Varric Tethras,” Fenris replied. His voice was even more gravelly than usual. When had he last spoken to somebody? He couldn’t remember. He’d been on the road for nearly two weeks and honestly, it was a blur. Still, he thought it better to ask for Varric. He was accustomed to avoiding mentioning the Champion.

The guard nodded. Clearly the dwarf was well-known here.

“Fair enough,” he said. “What sort of business?”

“That is between the dwarf and myself,” Fenris replied tersely. He was anxious to find Varric and, in turn, Hawke.

The human hesitated for a moment and glanced over to his fellow guard, who was speaking with a traveling merchant. He looked back to Fenris, who was now making an effort to appear more pleasant. It almost worked.

“...right,” the guard said. “Serah Tethras is usually in the tavern or the main hall. They might not welcome your sword there though, so just stay out of trouble and keep the business friendly, Serah Elf.” He waved Fenris forward, looking all too eager to make the elf somebody else’s problem. So, the Inquisition was confident enough that it could handle armed guests. Fenris made note of it.

“Thank you,” Fenris replied. He continued forward under the stone archway, entering the keep proper. He didn’t care to ask the guard for directions to the hall or the tavern; he’d figure it out on his own.

“Welcome to Skyhold,” the guard called out from behind him. Fenris didn’t turn back.

Friendly business indeed.

* * *

Fenris paid a visit to the tavern first; it was easy enough to follow the stream of thirsty travelers. The Herald’s Rest, it was called. It seemed a far cry from the Hanged Man - it was too clean and well-cared for. Still, it had seemed the most likely place to find the dwarf.

He stepped in through the open doorway.

Upon entering, Fenris felt a lull in the noise as patrons quickly took notice of him. Though he no longer wore the spiked armor of his Kirkwall days, Fenris still cut a remarkable figure. He was never sure whether it was the white hair, the lyrium brands, or the giant sword strapped to his back.

He stood just inside the doorway and scanned the room, ignoring the curious faces staring back at him.

The dwarf must have spotted him immediately. Varric pushed out of his chair and shot up to his feet. His tablemates looked up in surprise, one of them - a red-haired Qunari - rose to join him. Varric waved him down and moved around the table.

“Fenris,” Varric said, his voice hoarse. He approached the tavern’s entryway where Fenris stood silently. ”Fenris. You...you came. When I didn’t get a response, I thought that...” The dwarf swallowed and looked at him. Fenris returned his gaze.

It had been some time since Fenris had seen Varric, but he looked about as tired as Fenris himself felt. The dwarf’s face was drawn and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Fenris felt a momentary pang of worry. Why did he look so miserable?

“I received no letter,” Fenris replied. “I have been traveling. Tell me, where is Hawke?” As much as Fenris liked Varric, he hadn’t trekked his way through the Maker-forsaken Frostbacks to see the dwarf.

Varric paled. He opened his lips to speak, but no sound came out. Fenris raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t every day that Varric was at a loss for words. His stomach gave an uncomfortable twist. Fenris ignored it and waited for Varric to gather his thoughts.

“Fenris,” Varric said after moment. “Elf, I…” He brought a hand up and rubbed the back of his own neck. “Shit.” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Fenris, why don’t we go outside?”

The twist in Fenris’s stomach became an ache. Something wasn’t right. Why was Varric trying to get him out of the tavern?

“Why?” Fenris snapped. “Varric, explain. Where is Hawke?”

The tavern grew silent; Fenris had raised his voice without even noticing. He could feel the gazes of a score of strangers burning into him. He ignored them and focused on the dwarf in front him - a dwarf who was looking back at him with watery and haunted eyes.

“Fenris,” Varric said, his voice uneven. “Hawke isn’t here. He’s...he’s gone.”

“Gone?” Fenris echoed. His pulse thundered in his ears. His heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of his chest. “He said he would wait here for me,” he replied.

_Six months. Just give me six months, Fen._

“He didn’t make it, Fenris. Hawke - Garrett - he...he died,” Varric said.

“No,” Fenris said. He shook his head and took a step back. No. It wasn’t possible; it had to be some kind of mistake. Hawke couldn’t possibly be dead. His legs threatened to give out.

“I’m sorry,” Varric said, hands held out in surrender. “Please, let’s just...let’s go sit down somewhere. I’ll get you a drink. We can talk.”

“No,” Fenris repeated. He needed...he needed to see Hawke. He had given Hawke the time he’d asked for. Why wasn’t Hawke waiting for him here?

Dead. Gone. It began to sink in.

Fenris shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I just wanted to take a little time here to say a few words about my story.
> 
> I know that I've written something that has a very Sad Beginning. Personally, I have trouble reading things with beginnings like this because I don't like Sad Endings. But...I don't plan on writing one of those. 'Tabula Rasa' will be an _Angst with a Happy Ending_ story.
> 
> Also, I'm not using any tags that mark past or secondary/background relationships.
> 
> I know it's not a little thing to ask for, but I'm going to ask you to trust me.


	2. Bad Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go! I promised this one early as an apology for double-posting the work. I still need to figure out a more official update schedule - I'm thinking weekly, but I haven't yet decided which day. (This is my first long-fic, so I'll be feeling it out as I go along.)

Inquisitor Cal Adaar had been having a good enough day. He’d managed to get a decent night’s sleep for the first time since being back from Adamant. He’d sentenced Livius Erimond to execution that morning, then resolved a series of petty noble disputes that afternoon. His evening would consist of dinner and decorum lessons with Lady Montilyet, and that night he had plans to get drunk and thoroughly fuck his Tevinter lover.  
  
All things considered, it was a normal day for the Inquisitor. It was nice to get back to normal after the shitshow that had been Adamant. Adaar had even managed to sneak away for a quick round of cards in the tavern.  
  
That, of course, had been a huge mistake.  
  
“Shit,” Varric said. “Is he all right?”  
  
“Should be,” Adaar replied. “Just used a sleep spell on him.”  
  
The two of them were looking down at an unconscious elf. An elf who, only a moment before, had been spitting something in Tevene and reaching for the great sword at his back. Oh, and _glowing_.  
  
They had all seen it - a strange elf had entered the tavern and started an intense conversation with Varric. The conversation had turned into shouting. Then, the elf had then let out a cry and lit up with a ghostly blue light.  
  
Panic had broken out with some tavern-goers scrambling to get away. Others had drunkenly reached for weapons. Someone had called for the guards.  
  
The elf had been advancing on Varric when Inquisitor Adaar had risen from his seat. With a gesture and a firm word, Adaar had cast a spell that had made the elf immediately crumple to the floor.  
  
It had all taken a surprisingly short amount of time.  
  
And now the tavern was getting back to order. People were righting chairs that had been knocked over in the scramble to get away from the irate warrior. There were spilled drinks and scattered cards to be taken care of. In the corner, the minstrel was speaking softly with a few of Bull’s Chargers. Many of the tavern-goers were sneaking glances over at Adaar and Varric. None of them seemed willing to get much closer.  
  
“Sorry,” Adaar said as he put a hand on Varric’s shoulder. “I panicked and did the first thing that came to mind. Didn’t think this was the best place for him to pull out that sword.”  
  
“That’s all right, Flash,” Varric replied, voice hoarse. “I didn’t think he’d…” He cleared his throat and reached up to pat Adaar’s hand.  
  
Adaar squeezed his shoulder before pulling away. He knelt down and carefully touched the elf’s temple. He shivered as he felt the familiar rush of lyrium. Adaar ignored it and silently tested the edge of his spell - the elf would remain unconscious for about an hour. He quickly pulled his hand back.  
  
“He’s not going to be happy when he wakes up,” Varric said as he watched the Qunari.  
  
“He wasn’t too happy when he went to sleep,” Adaar pointed out. “So, I take it this is Hawke’s…”  
  
“Partner, yes. Fenris.”  
  
“ _Shit_.”  
  
“You got that right, Flash,” Varric said. “We should probably get him out of here.”  
  
“Sure,” Adaar said. He leaned down and carefully scooped the elf up. It was awkward with the sword still strapped to Fenris’s back, but Adaar managed to get him over a shoulder. It would do for now. He left the elf’s pack where it lay on the floor.  
  
The two of them moved across the tavern toward the door. Adaar paused as a small group of guards came rushing in. He dismissed them immediately, assuring them that he’d taken care of the disturbance, then gave one orders to follow later with Fenris’s belongings. If any of the guards had questions about the unconscious elf slung over the Inquisitor’s shoulder, they chose not to ask. Instead, Adaar took his leave and exited the tavern with Varric walking alongside him.  
  
“Thank you, by the way,” Varric said as the two of them made their way across the courtyard. “I like to think he wouldn’t hurt me any other time, but I don’t think he was all there.”  
  
“What in the Void happened anyway?” Adaar asked. It was obvious to him _why_ Fenris would be so upset. But why had he attacked Varric? And why was he even here in the first place?  
  
“He just showed up, asking for Hawke,” Varric said, voice strained. “He...Hawke had mentioned that he and Fenris had plans to meet up here. Guess the elf didn’t get my letter.”  
  
“Well, fuck,” Adaar said, wincing.  
  
“Yeah,” Varric replied.  
  
So, that whole display had been a man reacting to the news that his lover was dead. Adaar let out a sigh. His nice day had suddenly gotten a lot more complicated. Well, there was no helping it.  
  
“Think he’ll try to come after you again when he wakes up?” Adaar asked. They were walking into the Keep proper, and gathering more than a few odd looks along the way. Adaar wasn’t sure of his destination yet - should he prepare a bed or a cell? He politely waved off a curious guard.  
  
“I wish I could tell you,” Varric answered.  
  
Adaar grunted. Well, he supposed they could give the elf the benefit of a doubt. So, they weren’t going with the cell then. He had another room in mind. Satisfied with his decision, he gestured for Varric to follow him through a side hall and up a set of stairs.  
  
“You’re putting him in Hawke's room,” Varric said once he realized their direction.  
  
“Nothing’s been done with it yet,” Adaar replied. “It’s as good a place as any.” They turned down another hall and soon arrived at the room in question. Varric opened the door and they both ducked inside.  
  
“Maker, how does he carry this blasted sword?” Adaar grumbled as he went to gently put the sleeping elf on the bed. “My shoulder’s killing me, and I probably weigh as much as three of him.”  
  
“Sheer force of will,” Varric replied. He pulled open the disused curtain to allow a little more light into the small room.  
  
“And not rippling elven muscles?” Adaar asked. He carefully undid the great sword’s harness and slid it away from Fenris. It was probably a good idea to remove the weapon from the equation.  
  
“That too,” Varric said. “Hawke would’ve known a lot more about that than me. If you got him drunk enough, you could get details out of him.” There was the ghost of a smile in Varric’s voice.  
  
Adaar chuckled and moved across across the room to the weapons rack in the corner. He carefully leaned Fenris’s sword into the spot where Hawke’s staff used to set. He frowned at the thought, then returned to the bed and arranged Fenris into a more comfortable position.  
  
“So,” Adaar said, looking to Varric. “You think I should have some backup in here before I wake him up?”  
  
The dwarf looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head.  
  
“I don’t know that adding more people into the mix will help anything,” he replied. “It might even be a good idea for you to clear out.”  
  
“Not a chance,” Adaar said with a frown. “What if he attacks you again?”  
  
Varric remained silent, arms crossed over his chest. He was watching the slow rise and fall of Fenris’s chest as he slept.  
  
“Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing. I mean, I can’t blame him,” Varric finally said.  
  
“Varric.” Adaar looked over to the dwarf and frowned. He knew Varric blamed himself for everything that had happened to Hawke. It had barely been a fortnight since they’d returned to Skyhold, and the wound was still raw.  
  
“Varric?” A new voice croaked. Both Adaar and Varric jumped. Shit!  
  
Fenris was struggling to sit up. He was having trouble though, his movement sluggish and uncoordinated. He tried to blink, but his eyes were heavy with sleep. Adaar was amazed that he was even conscious, let alone able to move. Maybe his sleep spells weren’t up to snuff anymore.  
  
“Dwarf? What...where?” Fenris’s voice was much deeper than Adaar was expecting.  
  
“Careful, Fenris,” Varric said. He stood close to the edge of the bed. He was tense, torn between reaching out to aid the elf and moving away to safety.  
  
Adaar couldn’t blame him. He was ready to cast another spell if need be. Though... _shit_. He’d left his staff in the tavern, hadn’t he? _Great job, Inquisitor._ He could kick himself.  
  
“What is going on?” Fenris asked. He’d managed to sit up and was holding his head in his hands.  
  
“You’re safe,” Varric said gently.  
  
“Where am I? I was...I dreamt…” Fenris looked up, green eyes wide. “I dreamt that Hawke was dead.”  
  
Adaar’s heart ached at the look of pain on the elf’s face.  
  
“I’m sorry, Fenris,” Varric said. He slowly moved so he was sitting at the edge of the bed. He kept a careful distance from the elf. Adaar hovered in the background and couldn’t help but feel he was intruding.  
  
“It was no dream,” Fenris said, his voice wavering.  
  
“No,” Varric replied. He shook his head and looked down at the floor. “Hawke is gone.”  
  
There was silence for a moment. The pain on Fenris’s face was slowly fading away into a mask of numbness. Blank. His hands, still clad in gauntlets, clutched at the bedspread underneath him.  
  
“How did I get here?” Fenris asked, his voice suddenly hard. “I was in the tavern. You told me that Hawke was dead and I…”  
  
“You started glowing and threatening your friend here,” Adaar supplied before Varric could respond. “So I knocked you out and brought you here before it could escalate. ...sorry.” Fenris’s attention snapped over to him immediately, like he was just noticing Adaar for the first time.  
  
“And who are you?” Fenris asked. Well, apparently he wasn’t going to address his episode in the tavern.  
  
“Calvin Adaar,” Adaar replied. “Inquisitor.” He bowed his head in greeting.  
  
“Inquisitor,” Fenris echoed. “Of course.” Like that was answering something. Adaar looked at him curiously as Fenris closed his eyes and turned his head.  
  
“I apologize, Varric,” Fenris said after a moment. “I was not myself.”  
  
“That’s all right, elf,” Varric said. “I know it had to be a shock. I...shit. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Tell me,” Fenris said. “What happened to him??” His voice shook near the end as his grip on the blanket tightened.  
  
“It’s complicated,” Varric said, glancing over at the Inquisitor.  
  
“Explain.” Fenris was looking at Varric, his green eyes hard. There was a tremble to his lips that betrayed the emotions running beneath.  
  
And so Varric did. 


	3. Blame to Share

Fenris remained silent while Varric spoke. The Inquisitor helped him at times, when it seemed hard for the dwarf to continue. Together, the two of them wove the story of Hawke and his time away from Fenris.

They spoke of Hawke’s travels with Stroud and the march to Adamant. The desperation of the Wardens and the horrors it wrought. Demons. Blood. A battle with an Archdemon and a great fall from a tower. Landing in the Fade.

Much of it seemed almost too hard for Fenris to believe. But then again, Hawke had always lived a very strange life.

Hawke.

Fenris knew he was shredding the blanket clutched in his hands, but he couldn’t help gripping it tighter. He could have helped Hawke with all of the fighting! If only Fenris had been there… He let out a breath and listened as Adaar took over the story.

The Inquisitor was the one who described the madness of the Fade. Fenris listened, asking no questions of his own. The Inquisitor spoke of his lost memories and the group’s journey to find them. Something in Fenris felt a resonance with that; he understood why Adaar might have taken risks to get get back what he'd lost. Adaar continued,  explaining the great demon behind everything, and the battle the group fought at the end of things.

The demon had blocked their one chance at escape, and Hawke…

Fenris closed his eyes and turned his head away.

“He sacrificed himself so we could make it out,” Adaar said, then fell silent. That was it then. The end.

“You told him to stay.” Fenris’s reply was low; he’d been unable to hold it back. The blanket held in his hands was in tatters. “You made the choice.” He opened his eyes and turned his hard gaze to the Inquisitor.

Fenris felt sorrow howling through him. Swirling into it was a cold fury. This man, this Inquisitor, had chosen Hawke’s fate. He’d left Hawke to die alone, surrounded by demons.

“I did,” Adaar replied. He looked at Fenris with sad brown eyes. “It wasn’t a choice I made easily. And I...I am sorry, truly.”

“Hollow words,” Fenris choked out.

“Fenris,” Varric said. “It isn’t the Inquisitor’s fault. I brought Hawke here. I asked him for his help. If anybody is to blame-”

“Varric, no,” Adaar cut in. “We’ve talked about this.”

Fenris closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. He wanted to keep blaming the Inquisitor. It would be so easy to lay it all at his feet, to point the accusing finger in his direction. He wanted to lash out. Varric was right as well - the dwarf had been the one to pull Hawke into this mess. But Varric had also been the one who had protected Hawke for months. The dwarf had been held prisoner and had lied to the Chantry for his sake. For Hawke.

Hawke.

“I blame you for leaving him,” Fenris said. The Inquisitor looked over to him with those sad eyes again. Before either he or Varric interrupted him, Fenris continued. “And you for bringing him here, Varric.”

“But I also blame Hawke for choosing this.” His voice shook and he could feel the shameful prick of tears at the corner of his eyes. “And I blame myself for not following him. Letting him come alone.”

It was true - all of it. There was no one person to blame here. It could be passed back and forth with no one true source; they’d all failed to prevent any of this from happening. If Hawke hadn’t have come to Skyhold. If the mages hadn’t rebelled. If Anders hadn’t helped ignite the powder keg of Kirkwall. On and on. Unraveling this ill-fated progression of events would be of no use. None of it would bring Hawke back to him.

Hawke’s life had always been a progression of ‘ifs’ and ‘if onlys’. But Hawke, being the man that he was, had been strong. It had been the lot in life he’d been dealt, and Hawke had smiled and made what he could of it.

Fenris blinked away the tears that still threatened to fall.

“Fenris,” Varric said. He stood close to the bed and looked at the elf with watery eyes.

“Just tell me,” Fenris said, avoiding the dwarf’s gaze and turning toward the Inquisitor. “Why him? Why Hawke?” The Qunari looked back at him and nodded. He was unafraid to face Fenris, and for that Fenris felt a grudging bit of respect.

“Because he was strong,” Adaar replied. “I needed his strength, and part of me hoped that perhaps he would be able to follow us back out.” He frowned.

“Is there a chance he still lives?” Fenris asked, his heart leaping at the very notion.

“No,” Adaar replied. “I’m sorry. I...it was a fool’s hope. The demon was too powerful.”

“But you did not see him fall,” Fenris countered.

“No. And you didn’t see the demon,” was Adaar’s soft reply.

“I asked the same thing, Fenris,” Varric said, shaking his head. “And we’ve consulted our resident Fade expert on it. It’s…”

"Hawke is dead,” Adaar said. The words were so final; Fenris felt the small hope in him sputter out. “I’m sorry, really, I am. But there’s no way…” the Inquisitor sighed. “Is there anything I can do to help you now, Fenris?” His words were hesitant.

“No,” Fenris replied sharply. What could this man possibly do for him now? The only thing Fenris needed now was Hawke, and Hawke was gone. There was nothing left of him to even bury. A new wave of grief washed over him.

“Leave me, please. I wish to be alone.”  He held a hand up to cover his face. Fenris didn’t want to let these two men see him like this. Lost. Broken.

“Of course,” Adaar nodded. He stepped back toward the door. “Take your time. This room...it was Hawke's before we left for Adamant. It’s yours now, for as long as you need it.”

 “He left some things,” Varric added. “At the camp in Adamant. I kept them safe, but I...I’ll bring them to you.”

 Fenris nodded and brought his hand away. He would like that, at least. His eyes were red, but the tears were held at bay for the time being. He looked down at the shredded blanket he still held in his one hand. He let it go and smoothed it down.

 “We’ll leave you to it then,” Varric said. Again, he looked like he was stopping himself from reaching out to Fenris. “I’ll check on you later, elf. Bring you something to eat, along with Hawke’s things.”

“Thank you, Varric,” Fenris said, then fell silent again.

 Frowning, Varric stepped away from the bed and moved to join the Inquisitor. The two of them quietly exited, shutting the heavy door behind them.

 Fenris immediately rose from the bed and began to circle the room. He felt lost. Numb. He was exhausted, from both the hard journey here and the news he’s just received. Still, he needed to pace. To think.

* * *

  _“Fen, you’re going to wear a rut into the floor,” Hawke said from the bed. He wore an amused expression as he watched Fenris pace the room_

_“It’s not your floor to worry about,” Fenris replied with a huff._

_“True. But I think it’s already been through enough. You know it’s seen some shit, being the floor of a cheap inn." He scratched his chest lazily. "How much blood you think they’ve had to strip off of it?”  
_

_“Hawke,” Fenris said. He turned around and glared at the human. “Be more serious. What are we doing here?” Hawke looked back at him, nonplussed._

_“We’re enjoying a bed for the first time in over a week,” Hawke replied. He rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven chin and sighed. They had left Kirkwall nearly a month ago, and had been separated from the others for a few days. Hawke had insisted that they chance staying at an inn near Wycome, if only for a night or two._

  _“You cannot afford to waste your coin on this bed,” Fenris replied. “And the roads and taverns are watched. What if…”_

  _Hawke held a hand up and shook his head._

  _“Please. I can afford this for a night. And nobody is here watching us now, Fen. They’re not going to find the Champion of Kirkwall tonight. So, please…” He turned his hand over and gestured for Fenris to draw closer._

_Fenris let out a sigh and stalked over to the bed._

  _“You are a fool, Garrett Hawke,” Fenris said. He reached over and took Hawke’s hand._

  _“I know,” Hawke replied. He tugged at Fenris and pulled him down onto the narrow bed. “But doesn’t that make you the bigger fool for still following me?” He wrapped his arms around Fenris and held him close._

  _“I suppose it does,” Fenris grudgingly admitted. He gradually began to relax against Hawke. The mage still had the uncanny ability to make Fenris feel safe. Maybe it was the big muscled arms._

  _“Fools together then,” Hawke mused. He held his hand in front of Fenris’s face and wiggled his fingers. The firelight glinted off of the ring he wore around his finger. The ring was plain, silver with a tiny red stone set within the band. Nothing special to look at._

  _But it was also a promise, a favor returned._

  _Hawke had nearly burst into tears when Fenris had given it to him. The memory - now a few months old - still managed to amuse and warm Fenris._

  _This man..._

  _“Together,” Fenris agreed. He grunted in assent, then rolled over. He squirmed in Hawke’s grasp and tilted his head up. They kissed._

  _Always, Fenris thought._

* * *

Fenris growled and ripped one of his gauntlets off. He let it fall to the floor before quickly removing the other. His chest plate soon followed. He continued to pace the room. None of this should have happened! By all rights, he should have stayed with Hawke. He should have fought harder, insisted that they remain together. Never given in and given Hawke his six fucking months. If Fenris had been there…

Maybe Fenris still wouldn’t have been able to turn the tide of any battles. Maybe he too would have fallen into the Fade. Maybe the Inquisitor would have been faced with the very same choice at the end. But Hawke wouldn’t have met his end alone; Fenris would have stayed with him. _Died_ with him.

Together.

Fenris clenched his fist and stalked over to the bed. He swayed on his feet for a moment before letting himself collapse onto it. He buried his face in one of the pillows and clutched at the shredded blanket. He inhaled deeply, hoping to catch the familiar scent of Hawke. Nothing.

Fenris curled up and gave himself over to his own dark thoughts. He was lost now; he had nothing.

Everything began to fade away as his exhaustion finally caught up with him and he drifted off into a troubled sleep.


	4. Agency

“Honestly, amatus, are the papers that much more interesting than the naked man in your bed?”

“If I ignore these letters to fuck you, then I’ll ultimately be the one getting fucked over in the end,” Adaar grumbled.

“So crude,” Dorian huffed.

“Me? The Inquisitor? Crude?” Adaar smirked as he signed his name to the bottom of a letter. “How could you suggest such a thing?”

“ _Extremely_ crude by my exacting Tevinter standards,” Dorian replied.

Adaar hazarded a look over at the bed and was rewarded with the sight of Dorian reclining back against the pillows. The mage’s hair was still mussed from their previous night’s activities. He was bare-chested, with only a blanket covering his lower half. When Dorian noticed Adaar looking his way, he stretched. His exaggerated motions shifted the blankets lower, revealing his hip bones and the dark trail of hair that started below his navel.

Adaar knew that if he were a little closer, he’d be able to see the trail of love bites that led down over those hips to the man’s inner thighs. He suddenly regretted leaving the bed earlier.

“Your exacting Tevinter standards are going to get me in trouble with my advisors,” Adaar grunted, looking back down to his paperwork. He ignored Dorian as best he could. It was hard.

“But oh, how fun it will be,” Dorian laughed.

“Tease,” Adaar grumbled. He rifled through his papers and chose a random correspondence from Orlais to read over. Unfortunately, it immediately reminded him of the ball he was obligated to attend soon. Great. The bed was looking more and more inviting.

There was a firm knock on the door to his chambers. Adaar rose from his chair and looked to Dorian, who was pulling the covers up over himself.

“Enter,” Adaar called, and grabbed a light shirt from the floor. “At least they knocked this time,” he said to Dorian as he pulled the shirt on. He heard the door at the base of the stairs swing open.

“I believe they learned their lesson. Finally,” the Tevinter peevishly replied from under the covers. In the past, a few flustered messengers had ended up seeing more of both Dorian and Adaar than they’d been comfortable with. One of those flustered individuals had even been Commander Cullen himself, and the following advisors’ meeting had been more than a little awkward.

Adaar chuckled and stood near the top of the stairs. He peered down curiously to see who was climbing the stairs to his quarters.

“Inquisitor,” the messenger said, looking up as he ascended. Marcus, this one was Marcus, Adaar thought. “Message for you sir.” Marcus made it to the top and saluted smartly. He didn’t bother glancing over to the bed. Good man.

“Of course,” Adaar said. “What is it, Marcus?”

“Sir,” Marcus said, visibly relaxing at the sound of his name. “The elf, Fenris, sir. He wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

“Oh,” Adaar said, raising an eyebrow. Well, that hadn’t been what he was expecting at all. It had been two weeks since Fenris had arrived at Skyhold, and Adaar had spoken with him only a handful of times.

“Sorry to bother you, Inquisitor. I just…”

“It’s all right,” Adaar said with a smile and dismissive wave. “I know I gave orders that I wanted to be informed. You’re fine.”

Marcus saluted again.

“Did he say where he would be?” Adaar asked.

“No, Inquisitor. Messere Tethras sent me to inform you. I believe he’s still in the main hall. That’s all I know, sir.”

Adaar nodded. “Thanks, Marcus. Is that it then?”

“Yes, sir,” Marcus replied.

“You can let Varric know I’ll be down soon.”

“By your leave then, Inquisitor,” Marcus saluted once more. “...Messere Pavus.” he added, then turned and headed back down the stairs. Adaar smirked and glanced over toward the bed.

“That’s wasn’t the one who caught us on the desk, was it?” Dorian asked once he’d heard the door below open and shut.

“No,” Adaar replied, scratching his chest thoughtfully. “That one was...Willam, I believe.”

“I didn’t get a good look, as I was rather preoccupied at the time,” Dorian said. He emerged from the covers again to stretch and look up at Adaar. “So… your elusive elven guest requires an audience, hmm?”

“So it seems,” Adaar replied, stripping off his shirt and loose linen pants. He tossed them aside and strode toward the wardrobe. He could feel Dorian’s eyes roaming over his bare body. Sadly, he really couldn’t follow through on anything naughty now. “I wonder what’s going to happen.”

Since arriving at Skyhold, Fenris had been distant. To start, it had taken him a full day to emerge from his quarters. He’d spoken only to Varric, then shut himself back in the room for another day. After that, he’d come out and raided the kitchens one night, nearly frightening the cooks to death in the process.

Adaar soon issued orders that the elf was free to wander as he pleased. If there was any trouble with him, Adaar was to be alerted immediately. Otherwise, he should be left alone. And so Fenris had then taken to wandering the Keep like a ghost, drifting around the periphery with a skill that rivaled Cole’s. Though he caught the attention of many of Skyhold’s denizens, he spoke to hardly any. Most were too nervous to approach him anyway.

Adaar had greeted him in passing a few times, earning a nod and once a gruff hello. The only conversation of substance had been two days before, when Fenris had asked him to once again describe the Nightmare demon to him. Adaar had done his best, and Fenris had seemed satisfied.

And now...something new. Fenris wanted to speak with him again, and was actively seeking him out. Well, Adaar owed him at least that much.

“So, there really is no chance of me talking you back into the bed,” Dorian said as he watched Adaar get dressed.

“It will have to wait until tonight, sadly,” Adaar said, fastening his doublet. He quickly pulled his hair back and secured it.

“What a pity,” Dorian sighed. He was draped across the bed again, on top of the blankets this time. Still naked. Adaar silently cursed him as he pulled his boots on, then moved toward the bed.

“I’ll make it up to you then,” he said, and leaned in to press a quick kiss to Dorian’s smirking lips. Dorian slid a hand behind Adaar’s neck and firmly kept him in place for a longer kiss. It was a few moments before Adaar could pull away.

“Promises, promises,” Dorian murmured.

“Promise,” Adaar replied. He tweaked one of Dorian’s nipples before sliding away from the bed. That was what he got for being so damn tempting.

Dorian squawked in indignation, but Adaar was already out of retaliation range. The Inquisitor even had the nerve to laugh as he moved towards the stairs.

“Don’t bother coming back!” Dorian called, rubbing at his chest. “I won’t be here.”

“See you tonight, _darling_ ,” Adaar replied with a cheerful wave. He was already halfway down the stairs when he heard Dorian’s response of ‘crude’ echo after him.

 

* * *

 

Adaar found Varric waiting in his usual spot in the main hall.

“Inquisitor,” the dwarf said. “Good morning. I hope my message didn’t interrupt anything. Or anyone.”

“Morning, Varric. And sadly, no,” Adaar replied, clapping a friendly hand to Varric’s back in greeting. “Just some paperwork.”

“Damn,” Varric chuckled.

“So, what’s this all about?” Adaar asked, looking down at the dwarf.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not that sure myself,” Varric admitted. He jerked his head to the side and gestured for Adaar to follow him. The two of them drifted out of the main hall and down one of the side corridors.

“Fenris came and found me this morning. First time he’s sought me out in a while, so you can imagine my surprise,” Varric said. It was true. Over the past two weeks, it had always been Varric that would set out in search of Fenris. The dwarf was the one person in Skyhold who’d been keeping the closest watch on him.

“Then, he proceeds to surprise me a second time by asking about the best way to gain an audience with you, Flash.” Varric chuckled. The two of them began to climb stairs that would take them up to the battlements.

“I told him that if he needed me, he just had to come find me. Or...find a messenger to get me,” Adaar replied. “He got a free pass to avoid the official channels of...whatever the hell Josephine calls it.”

“The red tape?” Varric replied. “Oh, I know. But you’re a little harder to approach than you realize, Flash. If it’s not the bureaucracy, it’s the busy schedule. I think he was nervous about bothering you.”

“Nervous about bothering me?” Adaar repeated. The elf who’d scared the shit out of the entire tavern only two weeks prior was now worried about bothering Adaar with a chat? “You’re kidding.”

“Not this time,” Varric replied, then chuckled. “I’m just happy he came to me at all.”

“And he didn’t even try to throttle you this time?” Adaar pushed a door at the top of the stairs open and squinted in the harsh morning light.

“Not even a raised voice,” Varric replied, stepping outside. “But like I said before, Flash, that wasn’t like Fenris. He was in a bad place. Can you blame him?”

“...no,” Adaar admitted, then sighed. It was still a sore subject for all of them. Sharing the blame only tempered the ill feelings; it absolved nothing.

The two of them walked along the battlements, and in the distance Adaar could see a slim figure with white hair that shone in the sunlight. The elf was leaning against the stone wall, looking down at the courtyard. Fenris was out of his armor, wearing a dark tunic and leggings. His large sword must have been left behind in his room.

As they approached him, Adaar realized that it was a very familiar corner of the Keep. He looked to Varric, eyebrow raised.

“Where you met Hawke, I know,” Varric said. “He suggested the spot. I don’t know if or how he knows, but...well.” The dwarf shook his head.

“Fenris,” Varric called out. The elf turned his head to look at them as Varric called to him. “Look who I brought.”

Adaar raised a hand in greeting. Fenris pushed back from the wall.

“Inquisitor,” Fenris said, straightening up a bit. Adaar and Varric stopped to stand across from him. The elf’s voice was still gruff with disuse, but Adaar noted that he at least looked a little more rested than before.

“Fenris,” Adaar said. “Good morning. You doing well? Varric said there’s something you wanted to talk to me about.”

“I am...doing well enough,” Fenris replied, eyes darting to the side. He shifted on his feet. “Thank you for meeting me now, and for your hospitality. I appreciate your patience.”

“Of course,” Adaar said, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. The elf, while not quite _pleasant_ , seemed to be in better spirits than Adaar had seen him before. “You’re a friend of Varric’s and Hawke’s partner - after what happened, it was the least we could do for you.”

Fenris shifted at the sound of Hawke’s name, his face twisting up for a brief second. He quickly recovered and looked to Adaar again.

“Thank you,” he said, not quite meeting Adaar’s gaze. “I have done a great deal of thinking,” Fenris continued. The mention of Hawke would go by without comment for now. “And I have decided it is time for me to leave this place.”

Adaar frowned.

“Leave?” Varric echoed. “Where do you plan on going? Back to Kirkwall?” he asked. Adaar glanced over and saw that the dwarf looked worried now.

“No,” Fenris replied immediately. “Kirkwall was Hawke’s place. I could not go there. Not yet.” He gestured in the negative, hands crossing over one another.

“Fenris,” Adaar said. “If you’re worried that you’re imposing on us here, I can assure you that you’re not. Take as much time as you need.”

“I need time, yes,” Fenris agreed. “But not here. I wander this place without direction. I feel lost.” He shook his head. “And I have heard some of the whispers - they are calling me a ghost. Yet, it is I who am haunted. By _him_. I can…” He took a step back to lean against the wall for support, then took a steadying breath.

“I can feel him here. I know this was not his home for long, but he was _here_. I sleep in the same bed that he slept in, sit at the same tables, walk over the same stones,” Fenris continued. Adaar briefly wondered if Fenris knew about the stones he was leaning against right now.

“Fenris,” Varric said. Adaar could hear the swell of emotion in the dwarf’s voice. Adaar was starting to feel pretty emotional himself.

“I must learn to live without Hawke,” Fenris said, his voice firm. “And as kind as you have been, I cannot do that here.” He shook his head again.

“I think I understand,” Adaar replied. He’d lost people before - some of his friends had not been lucky enough to walk away from the explosion at the Conclave. He knew the deep hurt of it. And to lose somebody as close to Fenris as Hawke had been… It was part of the reason he’d given Fenris so much space the past few weeks.

“I get it too, Fenris. I do,” Varric said. “But that still doesn’t tell me where you’re going to _go.”_

“I am my own man,” Fenris said. “I do not need your permission to leave this place, Varric.”

“I know you don’t, elf,” Varric said, gesturing at Fenris. “It’s just…Hawke wouldn’t have wanted you to go running off aimlessly into the middle of this mess alone. He wanted to--”

“Protect me,” Fenris said, his voice suddenly bitter. “Yes, I know that was what he said. He wished to protect me, and in turn he ran off alone into this _mess_.” Fenris sighed and brought a hand up to his head. He took a moment, then looked back to Adaar.

“I cannot stay here, but I do not know where I should be.” Fenris looked tired. “I must do something _now_ , if I am to ever move on from this.”

“Where do I fit into this?” Adaar asked.

“I have decided,” Fenris said. “I want to pledge myself to your Inquisition.”

“What?” Varric exchanged a brief look with Adaar.

Adaar hadn’t been expecting that sort of answer at all. He stared mutely, unable to respond. Fenris wanted to join them now? After all that had happened??

“You know that I am capable,” Fenris said gruffly to the dwarf. “I have skills that would be assets to your cause. I lack a direction now, but this may be a chance to find one.”

Adaar nodded. Fenris had come to the conclusion that he needed a distraction to help cope with his loss. Adaar could definitely understand that. Sometimes throwing himself into his work was the only thing that kept him from being overwhelmed. It was easy enough to lose himself in a task than to dwell on his decisions and past actions.

“I know you’re skilled, elf,” Varric said. “I just didn’t think you were a big fan of the Inquisition. No offense, Flash.”

Adaar shrugged. The same thought had just crossed his mind.

“Hawke believed in you and your cause,” Fenris said after a moment. “So much that he sacrificed himself to aid you. And I have seen proof of the good you do.” He gestured to the courtyard below them. “I will deal with my grief in my own time. Until then, I offer you my sword.” He locked eyes with the Inquisitor then.

Adaar looked back at Fenris. He could see the resolve in the elf’s gaze, in the firm set of his jaw. Adaar knew that a part of Fenris would probably always hate the Inquisition. But that was fair; deep down, there was a little piece of Adaar that hated it too.

“Right,” Adaar said, and nodded. He would find a task suitable to a man of Fenris’s skill. Something that would keep Fenris busy and take him away from the painful reminders that haunted him. “I will accept you as one of our agents.”

Fenris bowed down, and Adaar returned the gesture.

“Well then,” Varric said. “I guess that makes it official then, Fenris. Welcome to the Inquisition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been swamped at work, so yesterday just kind of blew right by me. I realized this morning that I never got around to updating. D: Apologies!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Hourglass

Inquisitor Adaar takes his time as he weighs his options for Fenris. He sits down at his desk one night and thinks it over. It’s important that he find something that seems _right_ for the elf; he owes him that much.

It doesn’t come to him at all. He goes to bed frustrated.

The next day he receives a report from the Chargers and he realizes the answer is suddenly sitting right in front of him.

 

* * *

 

The Iron Bull agrees to take Fenris out on a mission as a favor to the Inquisitor. He can tell it’s important to Adaar. He can also tell that the elf is going to need some time to work his own shit out.

Bull can work with that. And besides, it’s a simple job clearing some bandits from the Inquisition’s main trade route into Orlais. A nice muscle job might just help the elf clear his head a bit.

The Chargers accept Fenris. He keeps to himself, but they’re all used to that type. Everyone’s entitled to their own secrets, and sometimes some pain is best left private.

They’re all impressed with his prowess in battle. Krem even buys him a drink after they all witness him ripping the heart out of a Venatori mage they happened across.

 

* * *

 

It’s strange at first, traveling with people who aren’t his friends. But then again, it hadn’t been easy back in Kirkwall when Fenris was still learning that what it was even like to _have_ friends. Hawke had helped him back then. At the start, anyway. But Hawke isn’t here with him now.

Fenris starts growing used to it though. It’s good doing this work with these people.

The hurt doesn’t really leave him as time goes by, but it does start to soften.

 

* * *

 

Halamshiral is a shitshow and Adaar is happy when it’s all over. They save Celene’s pristine Orlesian ass and make sure it remains on its golden throne. Adaar isn’t convinced it really deserves to be there, but he decides that he doesn’t care much anymore. What’s done is done. 

He sits with Bull by the fire the night after. They’re on the road back to Skyhold now, and the camp is quiet. Bull had met them all near the Winter Palace at the start of things, but now is the first time they have to sit and talk. Bull will leave them again soon to meet with his crew.

Adaar asks how the Chargers are doing. Bull grins and says that Fenris is doing better. Adaar chuckles at how transparent his question had been, then shakes his head and says he’s glad to hear it.

He thinks he made the right decision this time.

 

* * *

 

Fenris stops wearing the red favor around his wrist; it’s too hard to look at. But noticing the empty spot is hard too. He wonders if he’ll ever stop aching. He doesn’t part with the favor. Instead, he wraps it around the Book of Shartan - another one of the few things carried with him out of Kirkwall. Both are kept safely in his pack, along with the Amell crest he hasn’t worn since Kirkwall.

Fenris sometimes pulls them out at night, when sleep refuses to claim him. He sits by the campfire and reads the passages that he already knows by heart. He allows his fingers to toy with the favor, idly winding it through his fingers as he reads. He finds it comforting at these times, the worn fabric just as familiar to him as the words he silently mouths to himself.

 

* * *

 

Varric nurses a drink as he looks at the letter in front of him. He’s still a little surprised Fenris has written to him. It’s been over two months since the elf had left Skyhold, which made it about three since Hawke’s death. Varric takes another drink as he reads the letter.

Fenris’s handwriting has definitely improved, though some words are hard to make out due to splotches on the paper. Varric blames the messenger raven for those.

Fenris’s letter says that he is doing well in his new role. He appreciates having meaningful work to do. Fenris mentions how gratifying it is to have new Tevinter enemies to dispatch and Varric chuckles to himself.

Varric pauses for a moment when he gets to Fenris’s mention of his next mission with the Chargers.

Adamant.  

Adaar had ordered them to Adamant.

_I will see it with my own eyes soon - this place that has troubled my thoughts. I do not fear it--_  

Varric pauses to take a drink and wishes he could feel the same way. Why hadn’t the Inquisitor mentioned this to him? How could he have sent Fenris along with them on a mission to Adamant, of all places? Didn’t Adaar know what that place _was_?

Varric sets his drink down and continues to read. Something swells inside of him as he comes to understand why they were sent.

_I do not fear it because we will be tearing it down._

 

* * *

 

Adamant is hard. There are still demons to be dispatched and remains to be recovered. The sun beats down on them mercilessly as they survey all of the work ahead of them. The Inquisitor has sent troops to aid them, but it still seems like a daunting task.

Fenris is not deterred. He looks at the ruined fortress and does his best to tame the storm of emotions that roars through him. This place is Hawke’s grave.

The first night, he clutches the red favor as he tries to sleep.

When he finally does, he dreams of Hawke. The man’s touch. Lips trailing a hot path over his body. Whispered words that Fenris can hear but not understand. 

He dreams of Hawke’s fall. Blood and demons and the green madness of the Fade. Hawke calls out to him from somewhere, and he aches to respond.

Fenris wakes in the morning, wraps the favor around the book and puts it back into his pack. He does not look at it the next day, or the next. There is work to do.

The last tower falls with a thundering crash of stone. The Chargers give a cheer and congratulate Rocky, whose penchant for explosives has saved them all a lot of work.

Adamant is gone now. 

They are moving on to their next mission soon. The Chargers and the Inquisition troops go back to camp to finally celebrate. They leave Fenris alone as he looks out over the ruins.

He stands quietly, thoughtful. The wind whips through his hair, pulling at the strands that have escaped his ponytail. After a moment, Fenris finally moves.

He kneels down and begins to make a pile out of some of the rubble. He works silently, his hands now used to the rough edges of the stones. As the sun begins to set, a small cairn is formed amid the mess of rubble. With one last small stone set into place, Fenris finally pauses. He looks at it for a moment, then reaches into one of his belt pouches.

He pulls out the Amell crest and gently places it on the cairn. His fingers brush across the metal one last time - it’s warm and familiar.

Fenris stands and looks down at his work. 

“Goodbye,” he murmurs. The desert wind whistles through the ruins in reply.

Fenris turns and makes his way back to join the celebration at camp.

 

* * *

 

The Inquisitor gets a report from the Chargers on Adamant. He’s pleased to see that the fortress has been completely demolished. They’ll be on their way back to Skyhold soon.

He notices a note scribbled at the bottom.

_Will be asking Fenris to join on for good soon. Seems to be doing better. He even made a joke the other day._

Adaar smiles. He’ll have to tell Varric about that soon.

 

* * *

 

Fenris talks more now. He joins them for drinks and cards. And yes, he even jokes. It’s gotten easier.

He gets a few offers to share his bed, but he passes them up. Some day later on, maybe. He’s not ready for that just yet.

He’s been asked to join on with the Chargers full time. They want him to stay with them, even after their work with the Inquisition ends. He hasn’t given them an answer yet.

He’s thinking about saying yes.

He mentions it to Varric when they meet again in Skyhold’s tavern. It’s been a while since he’s seen the dwarf, but it’s not as hard as he expected. Varric looks at him fondly and tells him that it sounds like a good idea.

They don’t discuss Adamant at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Adaar does not have a good time in the Arbor Wilds. Yet somehow, it’s still not as bad as the Winter Palace. Ancient elves and cursed Wells and fucking Corypheus himself. They’d jumped through an Eluvian to escape and had ended up back in Skyhold. Somehow.

He lies in bed with Dorian breathing softly next to him. They’d made love earlier, but Adaar isn’t able to fall asleep. He reaches over and lets his hand rest against the warmth of his lover’s skin. Dorian doesn’t stir.

Adaar stares up at the darkness and thinks about everything that had happened in the Temple of Mythal. It’s only been two days, but it seems like so much longer. He supposes travelling through an Eluvian does that to a person. He wonders how Morrigan is holding up. In the end, she’d been the one to drink from the Well.

Adaar doesn’t regret that choice. Still, things are complicated.

Right now, the Inquisition’s forces are divided. He has to wait for everybody else to return from the Arbor Wilds the long way. The real way. They cannot make a final move on Corypheus like this.

He strokes Dorian’s side and thinks about other work they can get done in the meantime. He’s been putting off a trip to finish up some business in Redcliffe. It might be nice to return to some familiar territory. 

Dorian lets out a snort in his sleeps and shifts closer to him. Adaar smiles - he’ll worry about it in the morning.

 

* * *

 

Fenris lies in his bedroll and looks up at the stars. The wind is a little chilly, but he doesn’t mind. He likes how clear the sky is, and he finds there’s something comforting about falling asleep to the gentle glow of the moon.

He’s making his way west with a few of the Chargers. Most of them are in the Arbor Wilds with the Inquisition forces, but Fenris is instead on his way to the Hissing Wastes. There are slavers waiting there, and Fenris is very eager to introduce himself.

 

* * *

 

There’s a small copse of trees high on a hill in the Hinterlands that the wildlife has learned to avoid. It’s far enough from any major trails that not many humans have had any reason to approach it. The few men who’ve noticed it have not ventured any closer to it. Maybe it’s the faint babbling of voices or the eerie green lights that scare them off.

One hunter who once passed by knew it for what it was. 

A Rift.

A place where demons could easily pour out from the beyond.

Adaar curls up against Dorian, and the trees in the copse began to sway and moan in the wind.

Fenris looks up at the desert sky, and the light from the Rift grows brighter and brighter. 

There’s a sharp crackling noise and the whole hillside lights up a sickly green.

Something - someone - appears from nothingness at the center of the Rift.

They stumble. 

They fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this was late! I was out of town for a few days, and haven't been able to sit down at the computer until now.


	6. Rift

Maker’s balls, why had he agreed to this trip again? ‘Just a quick trip to Redcliffe’ for some business with the Inquisitor? Varric should have known better…  
  
Their small party had been on the road for a few days now, and the progress had been much more slow than expected. Slow and wet. It had rained for two days straight, and even after it let up, they were all still forced to live with what it left behind.  
  
Mud.  
  
Ferelden’s famous mud seemed to be clinging to everything. Boots. Clothes. Saddles - the horses seemed about as fond of the stuff as their riders. The only one that didn’t seem to mind it was the Inquisitor’s Charger, and that thing was half-mad on a good day anyway.  
  
Still, Varric supposed it was better to get out and do something - well, normal. They had all been thrown for a loop by the particularly weird shit that had gone down at the Temple of Mythal. Being out in the field, solving smaller, more mundane problems sure felt a lot better than sitting around Skyhold and brooding about elven gods and blighted Darkspawn magisters.  
  
Still, did it have to involve so damn much mud?  
  
It had been a long day of slogging through the Hinterlands, and all of them had been eager to make camp as soon as they found a decent clearing. Their group was small - Adaar had declined a larger escort - so it hadn’t taken them long to get the tents pitched and a fire going. The daylight was quickly waning, and there was no sign of rain tonight. It would have been almost pleasant had Varric not felt so sore.  
  
Varric grunted as he took a seat at the campfire. His behind protested the rough surface of the log somebody had dragged over, but he held back any complaints. It still beat sitting on the muddy ground. Speaking of mud...he lifted a foot and assessed the damage to the boots he was wearing.  
  
“You know,” Dorian said. He was seated on another log across the fire from Varric. “When we spoke of Ferelden back home, it was always with an understanding that its reputation for being a backwards country full of mud and dogs just had to be an exaggeration.” He paused to flick a clump of mud off of the hem of his robe. “But now that I’m speaking from experience, I think I can safely say that it is quite accurate.”  
  
The Inquisitor chuckled from his seat next to Dorian. He was leaning over the fire, watching the progress of the cooking meat.  
  
“Come on now,” Adaar said. “None of us have a dog.”  
  
“Yet, Amatus. Yet,” Dorian replied darkly.  
  
“Yes, that’s just what we need,” Adaar laughed. “A loyal dog to round out the group.”  
  
Varric smiled at the thought. Well, the Inquisitor wasn’t wrong. It really took him back for a moment. Hawke’s mabari had been a constant fixture whenever their group had stirred up trouble in Kirkwall. And Maker, did that man love his dog. Varric looked back at the fire for a moment. Shit. He hadn’t thought about that dog in a while. Hawke, on the other hand…  
  
Things were getting better. It still stung to think about his friend, but it wasn’t a raw flash of pain anymore. It was more of an ache now, something he forgot to feel at times. He wondered if that was how Fenris was feeling as well. When had he last gotten a letter from the elf? Shit. He’d have to check with his contacts again soon and see how he was doing.  
  
“Oi!” Sera’s voice snapped Varric from his thoughts. The elf took a seat at the opposite end of his log. “How much longer is it, Inky?”  
  
“The food? Uh...another few minutes or so,” Adaar replied. Varric caught his eyes as Adaar peered curiously over at him.  
  
“No, not the food. Not worried about that!” She leaned back on the log and stretched. “Us! How close are we to where you need us to be?”  
  
“Oh, that,” Adaar replied. “Mm. A few more days to Redcliffe.. We should be getting to the Crossroads tomorrow - we’re going the long way around so I can check in there. See if there’s anything they need. This is all assuming the rain holds off, of course.”  
  
“Good luck with that,” Dorian replied.  
  
“Ugghh,” Sera sighed. “A few days? Don’t know how much more of this my behind can take.”  
  
Varric chuckled. There was nothing like traveling with Sera.  
  
“Oh, I know how you feel,” Adaar replied with a grin.  
  
“You must have it even worse, Inky,” Sera said. “No thanks to you, Fancypants.” She snorted and shot a look at Dorian.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Dorian replied, doing his best to look offended. Adaar merely laughed and rolled his eyes.  
  
“You’ve got it all wrong, Sera,” Adaar replied.  
  
“What? It’s the other way around then? I could see that.” She made a face. “Don’t want to though.”  
  
“No, no,” Adaar said. He was doing his best at trying not to laugh. “Well, I mean. Yes, but...no!” One look at the displeased expression on Dorian’s face set him off and he doubled over with a snort.  
  
“What he means is that we don’t engage in those sorts of activities while we’re on the road, Sera,” Dorian said. He playfully smacked Adaar’s broad shoulder; the Inquisitor ignored him and kept laughing.  
  
“Really?” Varric said with a smirk. “Then what are all those noises we’re subjected to?” He couldn’t help but jump into this one.  
  
“Those are… Wait, you can hear us?” Dorian blinked.  
  
Adaar laughed even harder, his large frame shaking as he tried to contain it.  
  
“Is the Inquisitor all right?” Cassandra asked. She’d just emerged from her small tent and was stalking toward the campfire. She came to a stop near Varric and Sera’s log. “What’s happened?”  
  
“Things happened,” Varric replied. Sera cackled.  
  
“Yes, things,” Dorian said with a sigh.  
  
“But not things involving my behind,” Adaar wheezed.  
  
“Ugh,” Cassandra replied.

 

* * *

  
They reached the Crossroads the following evening.  
  
It had taken most of the day to make the trek; the Seeker’s horse had lost a shoe and (of course) it had rained for the first half the day. All of them were relieved when Sera spotted smoke rising from the village’s chimneys in the distance. They’d been losing daylight and there’d been an unspoken fear among them that they’d have to stop and make camp again.  
  
Now, it looked like they’d be able to spend the night in town. Well, maybe ‘town’ was too generous a term for the Crossroads.  
  
While it wasn’t quite a real town, it was at least a place that could boast a free-standing building. And really, it had gotten a little more impressive since Varric’s last visit with the Inquisitor.  
  
There were a few more houses now, as well as groups of sturdy-looking tents. The merchant’s stall had been expanded nearby. Another building had been erected near the center of the settlement - a simple rough-hewn cabin that bore the sigil of the Inquisition above it. Just beside it was what looked to be stables that were under construction. Given more time, this place might yet turn into a real village.  
  
The Inquisitor’s party dismounted near the edge of the settlement. An Inquisition scout was quickly making her way toward them.  
  
There were also a lot more people than the last time. True, most of them were technically refugees, but the look and feel of them made a huge difference. Gone was the tense air of desperation that use to cling to everybody. Varric didn’t want to say that all of their troubles had been solved, but this was a place that had once nearly starved to death. Now, it almost seemed normal.  
  
“Inquisitor! Welcome!” The scout bowed low to Adaar. “We’ve been expecting you, ser.”  
  
“The weather was fighting us most of the way,” Adaar replied with a laugh. He returned the bow. “Glad we made it before dark. We’re just passing through though. Are we able to get resupplied for tomorrow?”  
  
“Yes, Inquisitor,” the scout replied. “We have a room prepared for you in our base of operations, and plenty of supplies.” She glanced toward the Inquisitor’s party. “There are also spare cots in the tents near the base for your companions; unfortunately indoor housing is tight right now.”  
  
“It will be sufficient,” Cassandra said.  
  
“Hey, if it means we don’t have to pitch the tents ourselves this time, it sounds great to me,” Varric said, stretching out. He was happy to be off the horse, and honestly the promise of a cot was tempting on its own.  
  
“We appreciate whatever you can spare,” Adaar said. “Can we get somebody to take care of our horses?”  
  
“Of course, Your Worship,” she replied. “I can lead you to where we’re caring for our mounts.” She bowed again. “There are also reports ready for you.”  
  
“Mm,” Adaar grunted. “It’s getting late, and I think we’d like to eat. Is there anything that requires immediate attention?”  
  
“I…” the scout paused. “I don’t believe so, Your Worship. Nothing in the commander’s morning brief was deemed urgent.”  
  
“Then I’d prefer to handle the reports tomorrow,” Adaar replied. “We’ll take care of things before we head out.”  
  
“Yes, Your Worship,” the scout replied, and saluted smartly. “This way, then. Let me show you where to take the horses.”  
  
“Good call, amatus,” Dorian said as they followed the scout into the Crossroads. “I know how much you loathe doing paperwork on an empty stomach.”  
  
“I loathe it on a full stomach too,” Adaar grumbled.  
  
“True,” Dorian replied, and laughed.  
  
The next morning, Adaar made sure he had his breakfast before he was whisked away to a meeting with Cassandra. Varric was content to sit outside of the tent he was borrowing and clean Bianca. Compared to the last few days, it was pretty relaxing. He even had a real bench to sit on.  
  
He was just finishing up when Dorian sidled up to Varric’s tent and took a seat on the bench.  
  
“Hey there, Sparkler,” Varric said, polishing a spot from his crossbow’s stock. “You’re looking restless. Flash still in his meeting?”  
  
“Of course,” Dorian replied. “I’m sure they’re only just getting through introductions. Even their short meetings end up taking an eternity.”  
  
“Could be worse,” Varric replied. “We could be waiting for him in the rain.”  
  
“Don’t you dare suggest that,” Dorian hissed. He glanced up at the sky, eyes searching for any threatening-looking clouds. “Why, it’s almost blue today. I could almost forget we’re in Ferelden,” he remarked, then looked back to Varric.  
  
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Varric laughed. He turned Bianca over, seeking out any other missed spots.  
  
“I took the opportunity to get my supplies in order,” Dorian remarked, quickly changing the subject from rain. “Lucky for us we didn’t use much of our potion stores on our way here. They have very little to spare in the way healing salves, and no lyrium potions at all.”  
  
“Really?” Varric replied. “I thought the scout said they had plenty of supplies.”  
  
“It appears she was misinformed. I thought it odd since I wasn’t aware that there were many mages stationed out here.” Dorian picked at his robes as he spoke. “Turns out there aren’t - just a healer, her apprentice, and three others among the troops. Yet they’ve gone through their month’s rations already.  
  
“Where’d you find this out?” Varric asked.  
  
“I asked the healer’s apprentice, who was asking for more potions for his master,” Dorian replied with a dismissive wave. “Apparently the healer has been holed up in her house with a man they found half-dead in the forest a few days ago. The apprentice thinks it’s a lost cause, but the healer isn’t giving up. The quartermaster doesn’t seem to be budging though. I left when it seemed that their conversation wouldn’t be going anywhere else.”  
  
“Well, shit,” Varric said. “Poor bastard.”  
  
“Indeed,” Dorian replied. “It sounds like something they might want our dear Inquisitor to resolve.” He sighed and let the edge of his robe fall from his fingers. He dusted off his leg and frowned.  
  
“You’re probably right, Sparkler,” Varric admitted. He let Bianca sit on his lap and toyed with the polishing rag. It sounded like the sort of thing that Adaar would get dragged into inevitably. Let him make the call on whether or not they should use more resources on an injured man. What was one more life or death decision to the acclaimed Inquisitor?  
  
“It weighs on him,” Dorian said softly. Clearly they were both on the same page.  
  
“I know,” Varric replied. Don’t think about it, Tethras. Don’t think about him.  
  
They lapsed into a morose silence. Varric stared down at his crossbow, his hands tracing over its familiar edges as he tried to find something new to think about. Dorian stared off into the distance, a thoughtful expression on his face.  
  
Eventually the mage excused himself and Varric was left alone with his thoughts again. Well, that wouldn’t do. He hauled himself off of the bench, hoisted Bianca onto his shoulder and took off to see to his own belongings.

 

* * *

  
Adaar finally emerged from his meeting later that morning. He quickly gathered his companions and informed them that they would be leaving as soon as they were ready. Luckily, they’d all had plenty of time to prepare while he and the Seeker were previously occupied.  
  
Varric wasn’t exactly happy to be back in the saddle so soon again, but he knew it couldn’t be helped. They’d be at Redcliffe soon enough, and at least that place held the promise of a real bed.  
  
As they rode away from the Crossroads, Varric realized that something was a bit off. He’d been too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice that two Inquisition scouts were accompanying them.  
  
“What’s with the new guys, Flash?” Varric asked. The Inquisitor was riding ahead of him, just behind the scouts.  
  
“We’ve had a quick change of plans,” Adaar called back. “Figured I’d explain once we’re on our way so we can make better time.” He turned his head to look back at his companions.  
  
“Uh-oh,” Varric said. His thoughts of a comfortable bed in Redcliffe were evaporating. Changes of plans weren’t what he really wanted to hear about.  
  
“It’s nothing we can’t deal with,” Adaar laughed. He didn’t have to turn his head to know he’d worried Varric. “There’s a report of a Rift up in the hills,” he explained. “Apparently we missed this one somehow. It was only a rumor before; I guess nobody had proof. But a few days ago, some hunters found a man who’d been attacked by demons.”  
  
Varric perked up a bit in the saddle. Ah. The poor sap Dorian had mentioned earlier, right?  
  
“They brought him back to the Crossroads and reported it to the troops. They requested I take care of the Rift, so we’re making a short detour. Hal and Yvonne are here to take us most of the way, and watch our horses while we go find the Rift.”  
  
“It’s up a ridge that may be too steep for them,” one of the scouts - Hal, Varric assumed - explained. “We’ll get you as close as we can, Inquisitor.”  
  
“Thank you,” Adaar said.  
  
Varric wondered about the man who had been attacked. Had the Inquisitor been asked to decide his fate at the meeting as well? The question danced on the tip of Varric’s tongue, but he bit it back. No, it was better to leave it alone for now.  
  
They rode deeper into the countryside, sticking to the main roadway for the most part. After a few hours, one of the scouts turned off onto a smaller branching path that led up a hill. The party followed. They ascended at a slight incline for a mile or so before the ground evened out in a small clearing.  
  
There, they dismounted and prepared to go the rest of the way by foot. The two scouts would stay behind with the horses and most of their supplies while the Inquisitor’s party would climb onward to the Rift.  
  
“Maker’s balls,” Varric said as he looked up. They were at the base of the grown-over hunter’s trail. “You didn’t tell me we were signing up for mountain climbing today, Flash.” He craned his neck up, taking in the tree-covered slope.  
  
“Believe me, I didn’t plan on this when I got up this morning,” Adaar grumbled.  
  
“The scouts say that the path will take us up easily most of the way,” Cassandra said. The Seeker didn’t look phased by the prospect of the hike at all, even though the sword and shield strapped to her back had to be the heaviest load out of all of them.  
  
“And then we follow hunter’s marks the rest of the way,” Adaar added. The Inquisitor didn’t look like he was convinced of how easy the trail was going to make their climb.  
  
“Lovely,” Dorian said. From the look on his face, he wasn’t convinced either.  
  
“...at least it’s not raining,” Varric supplied.  
  
“Don’t jinx it, yeah?” Sera warned.  
  
They began their climb.

 

* * *

 

“I believe I’ve found another,” Cassandra called. As usual, the Seeker seemed completely immune to the rough terrain they were struggling on.  
  
Cassandra was studying the trunk of a large pine tree. A crude symbol had been carved into it, just as the hunter had described.  
  
“We’re still on the right track then,” Adaar said. They’d been off the hunter’s trail for about an hour now, making their way slowly up a hillside covered in old growth trees.  
  
“We are closing in, then. Nearing the placed where they found the man who was attacked,” Cassandra agreed.  
  
“We should have stopped to check on him before we headed out.” Adaar sighed. He crossed his arms over his chest. It was the first time he’d mentioned the man.  
  
“It couldn’t be helped, Inquisitor,” Cassandra replied. “It’s regrettable, but if there truly is a Rift…”  
  
“That’s the most important thing to deal with, I know,” Adaar said. He uncrossed his arms and began to move forward again. “Still…” He shook his head.  
  
Varric looked over to Dorian and the two of them exchanged a look. Dorian gave a slight shrug and shook his head. Ah, so the Inquisitor hadn’t mentioned the man’s fate to Dorian either.  
  
Varric adjusted his crossbow and went back to focusing on the hike.  
  
The party moved past the marked tree and continued upward.  
  
“I can feel it now,” Adaar said as they eventually began to crest the tree-covered hill. They’d just passed another marked tree. He raised his left hand and tilted his head up. “I believe we’ll find it soon. So...watch out for demons.”  
  
“Of course,” Sera grumbled. “Always with the shitting demons. Arse.”  
  
“Well, at least it’s not a dragon this time,” Varric sighed. Sometimes he thought he might prefer dragons to Fade Rifts. He chose not to share that fact with the Inquisitor though. It might encourage dragon hunts.  
  
“Not today, anyway,” Adaar said, sounding entirely too cheerful for their current surroundings. The qunari did look back to Varric, his eyes searching for something on the dwarf’s face.  
  
Varric smiled and shook his head. It’s fine, Flash. He was touched by the look of concern on Adaar’s face though. The Inquisitor knew what the Fade Rifts still reminded him of…  
  
It couldn’t be helped.  
  
Dorian make an exhausted sigh and the moment was broken. Adaar turned back to chastise the mage for his lack of enthusiasm and Varric found himself chuckling again. Everything would be all right.  
  
They continued along the ridge, doing their best to keep up the good-natured banter. The talking helped distract them all from how miserable the hike still was. True, it hadn’t rained that day. In fact, the ground was almost dry. Dry, but far too steep for Varric’s taste. His burning legs could attest to how much he missed flat ground.  
  
Varric knew that closing the Rifts was important work, but Maker, at what cost?  
  
_Don’t answer that_ , he immediately thought to himself. He grimaced.  
  
Varric was pulled from his thoughts by an unearthly screeching sound. His stomach gave a little lurch, but he readied Bianca and looked around. There it was again. He shuddered and grit his teeth.  
  
“There!” Adaar called, pointing his marked hand toward a cluster of small pine trees. Varric couldn’t see the Rift yet, but he could feel the air vibrating as they drew closer. There was no sign of the screeching demon yet, but it gave another high-pitched shriek to remind them of its presence.  
  
“Forward then,” Cassandra said, raising her shield. There was a grim look of determination on her face.  
  
The demon shrieked again, this time from somewhere to their group’s side. Varric turned, aiming Bianca. He caught sight of the Rift out of the corner of his eye this time. It was inside the cluster of trees, pulsing angrily.  
  
Sick green. Smell of ozone. Cries of demons and soldiers and Wardens and…  
  
Varric nearly stumbled. He shook his head - this wasn’t the time. Keep it together, Tethras.  
  
Even now, he knew he was still haunted by Adamant. He couldn’t let it shake him; he’d helped Adaar close plenty of Rifts since the Warden fortress. He could get the job done now and brood about it later. Maybe write something sad and sappy. He wouldn’t think about the Fade, or about the dying man back at the Crossroads.  
  
“Lookat!” Sera cried. There was a _twang_ and an arrow flew past Varric’s head. He snapped to attention just as the arrow hit its mark. The despair demon that had been sneaking up behind him hissed angrily. Varric pivoted and fired Bianca. His bolt hit beside Sera’s arrow and the despair demon glided away, gnashing its teeth.  
  
The demon didn’t get far before another arrow hit it. This arrow sparked and lit the demon up in crackling red energy. The demon screamed once more before it was reduced to ash. Varric winced at the smell the burning demon put out and looked to Adaar. The Inquisitor held his shortbow up at the ready, another magical arrow nocked and waiting for the next demon.  
  
“Nice one, Flash,” Varric called.  
  
The Inquisitor shot him a grin before turning his attention back to scanning for demons. Dorian stood beside him, his own staff crackling with electricity. Cassandra was off to the side, shield held high, and Varric could practically feel Sera’s nervous energy bouncing behind him.  
  
All of them stood tense, ready to spring into battle.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
“There...will be more, will there not?” Cassandra asked after a moment of awkward inaction.  
  
“That can’t be all,” Dorian said, electricity fizzling away.  
  
“I don’t know.” Adaar frowned and cautiously began to move closer to the trees. He lowered his bow and let the sparking arrow fade to nothing.  
  
Adaar raised his left hand high and let the mark on it throw out a green pulse of magic. Normally this motion was accompanied by a sharp crack and the sound of demons being sucked back through the Rift. Now...nothing.  
  
Varric slowly approached the copse of trees, Bianca held loosely in his arms. Cassandra was still holding her shield up, but she was looking around curiously. The only one still completely on task was Sera, whose fingers held her bow string taut, arrow still nocked and ready to fly.  
  
“I suppose I’ll just close it then,” Adaar said, sounding almost amused. One demon. Had there ever just been one demon at a Rift before? The Inquisitor held his hand high again and stepped forward as Varric watched.  
  
The Rift closed and the green glow was snuffed out. Adaar let his hand fall, then moved forward. The group closed the distance, following after the Inquisitor. As Varric drew closer to where the Rift had been, he began to notice that the area had been disturbed. Branches on the trees were snapped in half and dangling. Others had been completely ripped off and lay scattered about. The ground had been churned up and was covered in strange ichor in places. There were telltale spots where demonic leavings had been before they’d been sucked up by the Rift.  
  
In short, it seemed that there weren’t many demons to fight because somebody had already fought them.  
  
Adaar had clued into this as well. He was kneeling near what used to be the base of the Rift.  
  
“You sure they’re all gone, Inky?” Sera asked. She was still holding her bow, but she’d relaxed her grip on the string.  
  
“Mm,” Adaar replied, engrossed in studying the mud. Sera made an impatient noise.  
  
“It’s safe enough now, Sera,” Dorian said. He was leaning on his staff and watching the Inquisitor curiously. “No more demons.”  
  
“Good,” Sera said, finally putting the arrow back into her quiver.  
  
“This place is strange,” Cassandra remarked. “It is as if we missed the battle.”  
  
“My thoughts exactly, Seeker,” Varric said. He holstered Bianca. “This man they found. Are they sure he was just attacked? Because it looks to me like he might’ve done some attacking of his own.”  
  
“I did not think to ask,” Cassandra replied with a frown. She was watching Adaar dig around in the dirt.  
  
“Amatus, what are you doing?” Dorian asked, approaching the Inquisitor. He paused when the Inquisitor rose from his kneeling and moved over to another spot.  
  
“Looking…” Adaar said. His attention was still on the churned up ground. He paused near a discolored spot that marked a slain demon.  
  
“Yes, I can see that,” Dorian said. “But what is it you’re looking for?”  
  
“Something killed these demons before us. They’ve been dead for days. And I…” Adaar paused to lean down and pick up a snapped branch. He tossed it aside and poked the ground with the toe of his boot. He didn’t bother looking up.  
  
“Can’t you feel it?” Adaar asked, his voice soft. Was he speaking to anybody in particular? Dorian looked as confused as Varric felt.  
  
“Amatus…” Dorian moved forward to put a hand on Adaar’s shoulder. Adaar pulled away and quickly knelt down again, completely unaware of Dorian’s sudden displeasure.  
  
Adaar plucked something out of the dirt and studied it. Varric craned his neck to see what he was staring at, but whatever it was was too small. He could just make out the glint of metal reflecting the late afternoon light that filtered down through the trees.  
  
“Shit,” Adaar said. He looked up from whatever he’d found, a pained expression on his face.  
  
“What? What is it?” Dorian asked, annoyance suddenly forgotten.  
  
Adaar clutched at the metal in his hand and glanced over at Varric. Varric raised an eyebrow at how ill the Inquisitor looked. What was going on?  
  
“The man… We...we have to go back,” Adaar shakily said after a moment. He looked over at Cassandra and shook his head.  
  
“We have to go back to the Crossroads. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Catch me on Tumblr at [minwrathous](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com).


	7. Reversing Course

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra said from somewhere behind Dorian. “What is going on?” The Seeker’s displeasure was clear as day in the tone of her voice.

Dorian couldn’t blame her. They’d spent the whole afternoon trudging up a Maker-forsaken hill only to fight a lone demon and close a Rift. Then, after a few moments of digging around in the Ferelden mud, the Inquisitor had turned them around and declared that they’d be marching doubletime back _down_ the hill.

And then continuing all the way back to the bloody Crossroads.

Dorian was perturbed, and very, very confused. He glanced at the broad back of the qunari walking in front of him and narrowed his eyes. Adaar was lucky Dorian was so smitten with him.

“I can’t explain it all,” Adaar replied. “We just...we have to get back. Quickly.”

Dorian huffed as he nearly tripped over a tree root. Adaar was _very_ lucky.

“It’s pretty late in the day, Flash,” Varric pointed out. The dwarf was bringing up the rear of the party, and was starting to sound winded. Adaar was really pushing them. “At this rate, we’re going to lose the light; we’ll have to make camp partway there.”

“We’re not making camp,” Adaar grunted.

“We riding in the dark then? You hit your head, Inky?” Sera asked.

“Yes. And no,” Adaar replied.

“Amatus,” Dorian said. “What’s gotten into you?” He was willing to put his faith in Adaar, but he really didn’t like being in the dark. He also disliked how tense the set of his shoulders looked. Dorian frowned when Adaar didn’t answer him.

“ _Cal,”_ he said, more forceful this time.

Adaar stumbled a bit at the use of his given name. Dorian took no satisfaction in it. He had no desire to see his lover take a tumble down a hill; he just wanted an answer. Luckily, Adaar found his footing and continued hurrying downward. They were nearly back to the hunter’s path now; the slope wasn’t quite as steep.

“The man back at the Crossroads, the one who was attacked, “Adaar began after a moment. “He was very badly injured, and the healer has been trying to save him. But it...it didn’t look good,” he said. Dorian tensed at that. So they _had_ approached Adaar about the man.

“They used up a lot of supplies to heal him, and it just...they said it wasn’t going anywhere,” Adaar continued. “So I had to make the call. It just…” The Inquisitor’s voice nearly broke then, like he was holding back a wave of emotions. Dorian’s heart ached for how much it pained him.

When Dorian had told Varric that every decision weighed on Adaar, he’d meant it. But it seemed that even Dorian had underestimated just _how much_ weight was bearing down on the Inquisitor’s shoulders.

“Flash…” Varric said. The dwarf must have been remembering the conversation as well.

“I made the wrong call,” Adaar said after a moment. “That man...he fought all of those demons. And I can’t.” Adaar paused. “I can’t let him die. Not now.”

“Amatus,” Dorian said. He wanted to reach forward and put a hand on the Inquisitor’s shoulder. He had to refrain though, lest he sent them both stumbling down the path. Still...something was still eating at Dorian. There was something more to what Adaar was (or wasn’t) saying. Dorian wasn’t sure how he knew; he could just feel it in his bones.

He would let it slide for now; Adaar was upset enough and they all had more walking to do.

“Well, let’s keep hustling then,” Varric said with a good-natured chuckle.

“Indeed,” Cassandra added. Her voice was gruff. “If we have the scouts follow us with our supplies, we will be able to make better time.” The Seeker probably still disagreed with the plan, but she wasn’t one to dismiss Adaar’s sincerity.

“Thank you,” Adaar said.

Cassandra grunted in response.

  


* * *

  


They reached the clearing without any mishaps. The scouts were confused by the change of plans, but made no attempt to correct the Inquisitor. The party’s supplies were left for the two of them to handle.

Adaar made sure to quickly apologize to the scouts for putting them in a strange new position. There wasn’t time for much else though, as the daylight was going to rapidly run out.

“Make camp if you need,” he said to the scouts. He mounted his own horse and lightly pulled on the reins. “We’ll see you again at the Crossroads.”

And with that, they were off again.

Their trip back down to the main road was slower than Adaar would have liked. It wouldn’t do any good for their horses to be injured along the narrow trail though, so he was forced to keep the steady pace. Dorian could sense the frustration bubbling up in the other man.

Dorian remained silent as they rode; he was feeling a bit frustrated himself. There was still something that Adaar was holding back from them, something he wouldn’t say aloud. None of the others seemed very talkative either, most of their idle conversations dying off after a few moments.

Once they were on the main road, Adaar upped the pace. If they weren’t talkative before, they were practically silent now. They were going to be losing the light soon, and Adaar wanted to take advantage of it as long as possible.

As the sun set, Dorian caught himself wondering if they were going to make it back in time. _In time for what?_ he immediately thought. Adaar’s nervous energy had started to infect him after all. He was in a rush to return, and he didn’t even know why.

Soon, they were riding under the night sky. There was barely enough light from the moon to make out the road, and Adaar had to pause long enough to conjure a magelight. Much to Dorian’s initial delight, the clever little thing lit the path enough that they could at least see ahead of them. He’d have to have Adaar show him that trick…

Dorian decided one thing as they raced through the countryside - moonlight rides were most definitely _not_ romantic, no matter how many novels had once told him otherwise. The novels had conveniently left out the gnawing fear that your horse might lose its footing and throw you ass over heels to the cold Fereldan ground.

Dorian’s nerves had eventually began to calm as they rode - the magelight was working and the horses had seemingly settled. Unfortunately, this was quickly leading to boredom. The heavy silence wasn’t helping things. Would it be bad if he fell asleep in the saddle? He was starting to consider it as a valid option when Adaar finally spoke.

“Up ahead,” he called out. Dorian blinked and peered off in the distance. Ah. There it was - the Crossroads.

Adaar spurred his horse onward. Dorian followed suit, eager to be done with the whole ordeal. He was thinking of the bed he’d shared with Adaar last night, and how comfortable it would be right about now. Something told him that he wouldn’t be seeing it very soon. Not with how worked up the Inquisitor still was.

It wasn’t long before they met one of the guards patrolling the outskirts of the settlement. Dorian reined in his horse, bringing it to a stop just behind Adaar.

“Inquisitor,” the guard said, sounding very confused. “We didn’t expect you back so very soon.” The man looked just as confused as he sounded, blinking owlishly in the glow of Adaar’s magelight.

“Change of plans,” Adaar said. With a gesture, the magelight was snuffed out. Adaar swung down off of his horse and handed the reins to the confused soldier. “Healer Enora, where can I find her?”

“The healer should be in her cabin for the evening,” the guard sputtered. He automatically took the reins from the Inquisitor.

“Where is that?” Adaar demanded.

Dorian slid from his own horse and rubbed at his aching behind. The last bit of the journey had really done a number on him; it really was a lot rougher riding when both horse and rider had a hard time seeing the trail.

“Are you injured, Your Worship? Or…” The guard glanced over at the Inquisitor’s party, a look of confusion still fixed firmly on his face.

“No,” Adaar replied. “But I need to see her immediately.” The Inquisitor was losing patience.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” the guard replied. He’d quickly picked up on Adaar’s impatience. “It’s near the market stall; it’s small, but has the mark of the healer above the door.”

“Thank you,” Adaar said. He didn’t bother to wait for the guard’s salute before turning and jogging toward the center of the settlement. Dorian sighed and hurried after him. Varric followed after them, while Cassandra stayed behind to speak more with the guard and Sera went to find somewhere to catch up on sleep.

Adaar didn’t look back as he moved swiftly across the settlement. Everything was quiet, most of the Crossroads’ inhabitants inside for the night. They passed the a few curious guards on their way, but none tried to stop them.

Adaar quickly found the market stall and made for the small thatch-roofed house next to it. Dorian could just make out the simple symbol for ‘healing’ that was etched in the middle of the door. There was a light burning in one of the small windows.

Adaar knocked on the door and waited, nearly bouncing with his nervous anticipation. He leaned in to knock again when the door opened. He froze, mid-motion.

“Yes?” The man - the healer’s apprentice - looked at them, exasperated. He was young, with dark eyes and darker hair, and he looked completely exhausted. His eyes flickered from Adaar to the group of companions lingering behind him.

“The Healer,” Adaar said. “I need to speak with her. It’s important. It’s-”

“Which of you is injured?” the apprentice asked.

“Well, none of us,” Adaar replied. Before he could continue, the apprentice cut him off.

“None are injured?” The apprentice’s face had gone from concerned to annoyed very quickly. “Then I’m afraid there isn’t time for her to speak.”

“But it’s-”

“Shh,” the apprentice said, gesturing for Adaar to lower his voice. “She can’t speak to you right now,” he insisted. He glanced behind him, back into the cabin.

“But it’s very urgent,” Adaar said, his voice a hissing whisper. “It’s about the man they found in the forest. The one who-”

“Yes, exactly,” the apprentice replied. “Him. _He’s_ here, and _she’s_ with him right now, in the middle of a treatment. And you’re interrupting.”

“Oh,” Adaar said, looking dumbstruck. “So he’s…he’s not dead.”

“No, not yet,” the apprentice replied. “But I need to get back to assisting her.”

“Oh. Can...can I help?” Adaar offered. And _that_ had Dorian raising an eyebrow. Adaar wasn’t the best healer.

“What?” It was the apprentice’s turn to look dumbstruck. “No. I...look. Just wait here until we’re finished with this spell. She can speak with you after that.” And then without waiting for Adaar’s response, the apprentice shut the door in their faces.

“Well,” Dorian said. “That was fun.”

Adaar turned to look at him. Dorian could see that some of his energy had faded and the Inquisitor looked dreadfully tired now.

“I don’t know if I’d call it that,” Adaar murmured.

“So,” Varric said. He leaned against the wall of the cabin, arms crossed over his chest. “Now that we have a moment to take a breath, you mind sharing why we hauled our asses all the way back here?”

“I told you before. I made the wrong call earlier, and I wanted to correct it,” Adaar replied.

“Yeah, I know that’s what you said,” Varric replied. “And clearly the good healer here didn’t give a shit what your decision was. She’s still trying to help.” He looked at Adaar. “But you’re trying to pull one on me here, Flash. There’s something else to this.”

Dorian felt relief rush through him. He hadn’t been the only one to sense something off about Adaar.

“What?” Adaar looked taken aback.

“C’mon, Flash. Don’t play dumb with me here. You’ve got way more common sense than to force a rushed night ride back just to personally tell a healer you changed your mind. You could have sent a scout for that.” Varric was looking at Adaar curiously. “There’s something more to this.”

“I don’t want to say, not until I know for sure,” Adaar said, shifting back and forth on his feet.

Dorian and Varric both looked surprised.

“Know what?” Dorian asked.

Adaar shook his head. So, he didn’t want to elaborate? Dorian knew it was time to play his card.

“What did you find on that hill, Amatus?” Adaar looked at him, eyes wide. The Inquisitor knew he’d been caught.

“What?” Adaar tried not to look guilty; he failed.

“You found something after you closed the Rift,” Dorian continued. “And it affected you. What was it?”

“It was…I don’t know for sure,” Adaar replied, shaking his head.

“ _Cal,”_ Dorian warned. Adaar cringed like a chastised child. But to Dorian’s surprise, it was Varric that he looked toward. The dwarf raised a curious eyebrow.

“ _Fine_ ,” Adaar said. “I didn’t want to say anything until I could know for sure.” He shoved a hand into the pouch he wore at his hip. He dug around for a moment before pulling something small out.

“This,” he said, and held his hand out toward Varric.

Dorian was a little perturbed that he wasn’t being offered the important mystery object, but his curiosity kept him in place.

Varric uncrossed his arms and held his hand out in return. Adaar gently set something into the palm of his gloved hand. Dorian leaned in closer to see what in the blazes it was.

A ring. A simple ring.

The silence was palpable as Varric looked at it. He brought it in closer and picked it up to scrutinize. Varric turned it over in his fingers and Dorian waited with bated breath for an explanation. He was clearly out of the loop on this one.

“This…” Varric said, and something in his voice betrayed a depth of emotion Dorian hadn’t been expecting.

“I found it near the Rift. Now do you see?” Adaar asked gently. He frowned and stepped closer to Varric. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up, without knowing for sure.” He reached to put a comforting hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.

What? Dorian was utterly lost. He was about to say as much when Varric pulled away from Adaar. Without another word, the dwarf pushed the cabin door open and shoved his way inside.

Dorian looked to Adaar for an explanation, but the Inquisitor was already calling the dwarf’s name and following him inside. Dorian huffed in annoyance and went after them.


	8. The Dying Man

Hawke grinned at Varric from across the table, looking more pleased than the dwarf had seen him in some time. Varric wondered if it had anything to do with the lovebites that were peeking out just above the collar of Hawke’s shirt. But no. Those bruises had become a regular sight not long after a certain Magister had met his end in the Hanged Man.

No, Hawke had been looking smug the past few weeks, but not _this_ smug.

“All right, Hawke,” Varric said. The dwarf was leaning back. He gave his friend an appraising look and tried not to smirk. “Spill it already.”

“Spill what?” Hawke countered. His grin was still infectiously wide.

The two of them were sitting at the table in Varric’s suite. The noise from the Hanged Man was filtering in through the wooden door. It was still too early in the evening for things to be considered ‘loud’, but business would be picking up soon. Varric laughed and leaned forward.

“Please, tell me why you’re smiling so wide that I can count your teeth from across the table,” Varric replied with a snort. Something told him that it still might have to do with the elf.

“Can you really?” Hawke asked. “I’ve always wondered, but I lose count as soon as I run out of fingers.” He brought a hand up to touch his own mouth.

Varric immediately caught the glimmer of a ring on his friend’s finger.

“You’re shitting me,” he said.

“Not at all - you know I’m horrible at math.” Hawke smirked and waggled the finger at him.

\----

Silver. A chip of red stone set in the band. Bloodstone, maybe? Not dirt cheap, but not too expensive either. Hawke never took it off.

\---

Varric glanced at Hawke and noticed him toying with the ring as they stood, looking up at the Gallows. Hawke dropped his hand when Fenris came to stand next to him and took hold of the elf’s hand instead.

\---

Varric held onto Hawke’s hand as they said their goodbyes. He felt the ring still around Hawke’s finger before Hawke let go and pulled him in for an embrace instead.

\---

Skyhold. Hawke’s expression was stormy as he stared at the cards he held in front of him. He was already shirtless and Josephine kept stealing smug glances at him. Adaar pointed to the ring still on Hawke’s finger and gestured for him to add it to his bet.

Hawke shook his head and smiled. _No way_ , he’d said. Not a chance.

Hawke retreated from the table after the next round, completely naked. The ring was still on his finger.

 

* * *

 

Hawke had still been wearing the ring when they’d fallen into the Fade at Adamant. Hawke had almost certainly _died_ wearing the ring.

So how was Varric standing outside of a shack in the middle of the Hinterlands, staring down at the ring? It was supposed to be on the other side of the Veil. How had the Inquisitor pulled it out of his pocket, like it wasn’t still supposed to be on the rotting finger of Varric’s dead best friend?

Varric felt like he was drifting. He knew that he’d only been staring blankly at the ring for a few seconds. But it felt like he’d been rooted to ground for an eternity. All because of the impossible little ring.

_I found it near the Rift._

Adaar knew the ring by sight. He’d asked Hawke about it after that game of Wicked Grace. Hawke had explained that Fenris had given it to him not long before they’d left Kirkwall.

_I didn’t want to get your hopes up, without knowing for sure._

It was all coming together now, the pieces in Varric’s head rattling around and falling into place. The ring. The frantic ride back. The hint of desperation that clung to Adaar. The dying man.

It clicked together, satisfying, like the soft sound of his crossbow being cocked.

 Varric pushed his way into the healer’s cabin. He ignored the sound of Adaar calling his name, moving forward instead. The cabin was small. He paused to take in his surroundings.

 A fire burned low in the grate, casting dim light over only part of the cabin’s interior. There were a few cots set up near the door, all of them empty. Dried herbs hung from the rafters near a large table covered in books and vials. Off to the side was a door that led to a darkened room - likely the healer’s small private quarters.

 The only other light in the room came from the back of the room - candles, and the gentle blue glow of healing magic. Varric could see two figures bent over a bed. He felt a hand on his shoulder - Adaar had caught up with him.

 Varric pulled away from Adaar’s strong hand and moved back toward the back of the room. His presence was quickly noticed.

 “What are you doing here?” the apprentice hissed. “I told you to wait _outside_.”

 Varric ignored him and approached the bed. The apprentice glared daggers at him, but didn’t move from his spot. He was standing next to the elven Healer, whose glowing hands were the source of the blue light.

 “Quiet,” she said, not bothering to look up from her task. “And don’t come any closer. This cannot fail.”

 Varric froze, even though he desperately wanted to plow forward and see exactly who it was the healer was working on. Adaar stopped beside him. Varric still clutched Hawke’s ring tightly in one hand.

 The Healer began murmuring softly over the man. The light emanating from her hands brightened, casting her drawn and tired face in harsh blues. The apprentice standing next to her had his hands out as well as he assisted with the spell.

 Varric could feel himself starting to shake. He had to know - was it _him_?

 The minutes ticked by as the Healer worked. Minutes stretched into hours, into days, into years. Still, Varric waited. Dorian had joined them at some point and was standing close to Adaar, their hands barely touching. Varric stood still, silent. He refused to fuck up whatever healing spell was still going on.

 Finally, the light began to fade away and the Healer pulled her hands away with a sigh. She turned to take stock of exactly who had invaded her cabin. Before she could open her mouth to question them, Varric hurried forward.

 He ignored the indignant huff from the apprentice and the surprised gasp from the Healer. He only had eyes for the man lying in the bed.  It was darker now that the healing blue light was gone, but a candle burned on a table near the bed. There was just enough light for Varric to see the man’s face as he leaned in closer.

 “Shit,” he said, his voice soft and suddenly choked with emotion.

 It was him. It was _Hawke_.

 Or a man that used to be Hawke, anyway.

 Garrett Hawke had always been a solid man, one who seemed too large for a mage. But now he was thin - he was far too thin. Even during Hawke’s lean Lowtown years, he hadn’t looked this unhealthy. Hawke was shirtless and partially bandaged, and Varric could count his ribs. The large muscles of his arms had atrophied. One arm was in a splint and slightly swollen at the wrist. He was covered in so many bruises and cuts that it made Varric cringe.

 Hawke’s face - what could be seen of it under a scraggly unkempt beard - was gaunt. Pale. And… Shit. His _face_. Bruises mottled his ashen skin. There was wound running from the top of his head down along his right cheek. It looked red and raw, and glistened from the healing poultice that had been applied. His left ear was wrapped in a bandage.

 “What...what happened to him?” Varric asked, his stomach roiling in dismay.

 “I’ve no idea,” the healer replied. Rather than addressing him, she’d simply stood by and watched as Varric inspected her patient. Adaar and Dorian had approached the bed as well and were silently standing behind Varric. The apprentice had given up trying to lecture them and instead was pulling a chair over.

 “The scouts said he was attacked by demons, but that doesn’t explain, well, most of it.” She nodded her thanks to the apprentice and took a seat . “I only know the results,” she said, nodding to Hawke.

 “You can see the wounds on his head, all the bruises. He’s missing part of an ear. Cracked half his ribs. Broken arm. Burns from some strange magic. A broken foot that’s been walked on too much. And he’s suffering from malnutrition. Badly.” She sighed. “Demons didn’t do this.”

 “He really should be dead,” the apprentice added.

 “You can’t let him die,” Varric quickly replied. He wanted to reach out and touch Hawke, but refrained. Was there anywhere he could even touch without risking further injury?

 “No,” the Healer said. “I don’t intend to, Messere. I’ve been doing my best.” She spared a glance back at Adaar. “Regardless of what the Quartermaster has to say about my use of supplies.” She brought a hand up to massage her temple.

 “I didn’t mean it as an insult,” Varric quickly said. “I…” He looked to Hawke’s face.

 Varric Tethras was officially at a loss for words.

 “This is our companion.” Adaar’s voice cut through the awkward silence. “We only just realized it was him - that’s why we barged in here. Sorry about that.” Adaar put his hand on Varric’s shoulder and squeezed. This time, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he brought his hand up and let it rest on top of the Inquisitor’s in return.

 “Oh,” the Healer said, looking up at Adaar in confusion.

 “I...I was wrong to give the order to cut off the supplies,” Adaar said. “I’m sorry for the trouble it must have caused you; you’re only trying to help.”

 “Well, thank you for the apology, Inquisitor. And the change of heart,” she replied. “Though truth be told, I ignored the orders. I was going to have Gerald here unofficially requisition a few things for me.”

 “Stealing, Enora,” the apprentice - Gerald - deadpanned. “It’s called stealing.”

 “Well, it’s stealing for a good cause,” Enora replied with a wave of her hand.

 “You don’t have to worry about stealing,” Adaar said with a low chuckle. “You’ll have all the supplies you need.” Adaar squeezed Varric’s shoulder again.

 “Thank you,” Enora said. “It’s appreciated. But honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can continue this.”

 “He really is that bad off then?” Dorian asked softly.

 “No. But...yes.” The Healer sighed. “Your companion - he’s a mage, yes? He’s bleeding mana at an alarming rate. It’s making him horribly unbalanced, and it’s like everything I do is very quickly undone. We can’t stabilize him.” She glanced over at Gerald.

 “We don’t have enough power,” Gerald supplied, and Enora nodded in agreement.

 “You don’t have enough power?” Adaar repeated.

 “Yes,” Enora replied. “We’ve been supplementing him with our own magic. I’ve tried to get his body to regulate itself, get it to work again. But it just...can’t. I don’t know what injury - physical _or_ mental - would cause it.”

 “So he’s like a child who doesn’t know how to control their own power?” Adaar asked.

 “Sort of, but not exactly,” Gerald said. “Children can lose control of their own powers, but their mana doesn’t just…poof. Get used up constantly for _nothing._ ” He waved his hand around in frustration. “Plus, it’s making him harder to heal - it’s like we have to work twice as hard.”

 “I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Enora added.

 “So, it’s almost as if his body doesn’t understand reality,” Dorian suddenly said. “How limited the physical world is.”

 “I…” The healer and her apprentice turned to look at the other mage, both momentarily stunned.

 Varric raised an eyebrow. All of this magical talk had been going over his head, but this he thought he might understand. Dorian thought he might be on to something, didn’t he?

 “You can’t be serious. Something like that couldn’t be possible,” Gerald looked unconvinced.

 “I suppose that could explain it,” Enora murmured, almost to herself. “But Gerald is right in questioning it. I don’t know how such a thing could happen; it seems beyond belief.”

 “I could think of a way,” Dorian muttered.

 “You have an idea then, love?” Adaar asked.

 Varric turned to look at Dorian, who appeared to be lost in thought. “Sparkler?” He said. Varric was trying not to let give in to the wave of impatience and panic that was threatening to take over. Hawke was alive (for now) just in front of him, and all these mages could do was chat about how fucked up the man was.

 “It’s nothing concrete,” Dorian said. “I don’t have a firm enough grasp on the situation, and Maker knows I’m no healer.” He pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest.

 “But you’re thinking of _something_ though?” Varric’s impatience was leaking through.

 “I’m thinking of a great many things,” Dorian huffed. He paused as he looked over at Hawke’s bruised body. His gaze softened. “But yes…assume for a moment that what I said before is correct - this man has been away from the physical world. There’s no one injury that’s affecting his mana, but his body _itself_.”

 “Are you trying to tell me he’s come out of the Fade?” Gerald asked with an incredulous snort.

 “Yes,” Adaar said. He leveled a cool gaze at Gerald, who immediately realized just who he was speaking to. The apprentice’s eyes widened and Enora softly chuckled.

 “It’s happened before. More than once,” Varric said.

 “Right,” Dorian said. “This man’s been in the Fade physically, and now his body doesn’t know what to do with the real world. It used to know - but now it needs a reminder. Is there some way to do that?”

 “Like resetting a broken bone that’s started to heal wrong,” Adaar supplied.

 “But you’re talking about more than just a bone here,” Gerald said, having found his voice again. “This is…”

 “Complicated, yes,” Dorian said with a frown. “I don’t know enough about healing to have a more practical suggestion.”

 Varric finally pulled away from Adaar and moved closer to Hawke’s bedside. He reached out and put a gloved hand gently on his friend’s uninjured arm. Varric couldn’t sense any of the magical weirdness they were going on about;  he just knew that Hawke looked _bad_.

 “Such a thing may be possible, but I fear it may be beyond the two of us,” Enora admitted. She sounded very tired. “I think you’re in need of a spirit healer.”

 “Which neither of us is,” Gerald said.

 “Shit,” Dorian sighed.

 “Can he be moved?” Adaar asked. “We have more resources back at Skyhold, including a spirit healer.”

 Enora looked at Hawke and frowned. “I...can’t say that he will survive the journey,” she said.

 “But he’s going to die anyway if nothing is done about his condition,” Dorian pointed out. “You can’t keep going on like this indefinitely.”

 “He’s right,” Gerald said. “We can’t.”

 “If we can get him back there, then there’s a chance,” Adaar murmured. “...Varric?” He looked over to the dwarf.

 Varric was still looking down at Hawke. This silent dying man in front of him was a pale echo of his friend; he was the antithesis of everything Varric knew Hawke to be. They couldn’t just stand by and watch him slip away, not after he’d fought his way out of the fucking Fade. No way.

If Varric was going to lose Hawke again, it would at least be after a fight to stop it. This time, there was something he could _do_.

“We have to try,” Varric finally said. “Let’s get him back to Skyhold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! As always, I'm lurking on Tumblr at [minwrathous](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com/)!


	9. Show of Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've returned! And I'm so sorry that I'm posting this so dang late. I hit a wall writing a later chapter, and wanted to hold back until I got through it. Here it is!

 

Dorian jerked awake with a soft snort and immediately regretted it. Everything was sore. He sat forward, groaning softly, and rubbed at his neck.

“Have a nice nap, Sparkler?” Varric asked from somewhere beside him.

“Splendid,” Dorian replied. “I dreamt I was trapped in a wagon with a dwarf, a surly healer, and a sleeping lump of a mage. Oh, and everything smelled of horse.” He blinked away the sleep from his eyes. “Lucky me, it’s real.”

“Almost,” Varric chuckled. “The surly healer isn’t in the wagon right now - he’s outside, probably taking a leak. I think we just stopped for fresh horses; he took off as soon as he could.”

Dorian cleared his throat and ran a hand over his hair. Maker, why was he even bothering? His hair was a lost cause for the duration of their journey.. “And our resident sleeper?” He looked down at the floor of the wagon, where Hawke’s unconscious body was tucked under a blanket.

“Still asleep, and stable for now. Gerry at least made sure of that before he left,” Varric replied.

“He hates it when you call him that,” Dorian chuckled.

“Oh, I know.”

The three of them had been sharing quarters in the back of a covered wagon for four days now. It was slow, cramped, and made for some very uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. But, it was the safest way to transport Hawke, and Inquisitor Adaar had insisted on it.

Adaar…

Adaar was the reason Dorian was in his current predicament.

 

* * *

 

“Dorian, kadan,” he said. “I need you to do this for me,” Adaar was looking at him, his deep brown eyes full of worry. “I can’t help get him back to Skyhold myself; I _have_ to finish this mission to Redcliffe.”

“I want to be with you to help you, amatus,” Dorian replied. The two of them were standing in the Inquisitor’s borrowed private quarters at the Crossroads. Outside, the small settlement with abuzz with activity as a caravan was being prepared for its journey back to Skyhold.

Here inside the cabin, the room with abuzz with nervous energy.

“You can help me more by going with Varric and the healer’s apprentice,” Adaar replied. He put his hand up against Dorian’s cheek and gently caressed it. Dorian cursed as he felt himself leaning into the touch.

“You know I’m no healer, Cal,” he replied.

“I know,” Adaar murmured. “But you’re a powerful mage and you can assist in the healing process - he’ll just need your energy.”

“So, I’m being reduced to a mere power source,” Dorian huffed.

“Dorian,” Adaar sighed. “I just...I need something to go right - really _right -_ for once,” he said, closing his eyes. His shoulders slumped and he seemed to crumple inward. Dorian’s heart ached at the sight of it.

Dorian could see it - Adaar really _did_ need this to work. If only to take a little of that weight from his shoulders.

“Amatus,” Dorian said. He stepped up onto his tiptoes and did his best to put his arms around those wide shoulders. Adaar bent down and met him in an embrace. “I’ll go,” he said.

“Thank you, love,” Adaar replied, his voice soft.

“You’ll make it up to me later,” Dorian said, his tone not as light as he would have liked.

“I will,” Adaar replied. There was no teasing to his voice this time. No jokes. Just a tired smile as he gently drew Dorian into a kiss.

 

* * *

 

And so Dorian had left the Crossroads in a wagon bound for Skyhold. It wasn’t the worst mode of travel that Dorian had experienced, but it ranked as one of the more tedious. Gerald, the healer’s apprentice, had been asked to accompany them as Hawke’s caretaker.

In exchange for Gerald’s grudging assistance, he’d been guaranteed a chance to browse Skyhold’s stores for whatever he thought the Crossroads might need. Afterward, he would return to the Crossroads with all of the supplies. Gerald had grumbled and groaned about leaving Enora alone, but had agreed in the end.

And so they’d made a sickbed for Hawke on the floor of the wagon - the only place he’d fit, really. The other passengers were forced to used the wooden seats along the side of the inner wagon bed. Dorian had come to loathe the arrangement by the end of the first day. He’d put a blanket down on his seat, but it did no good. He could feel every bump and jolt of the bloody wagon.

They traveled during the daylight and into the evening, stopping only for a few hours to sleep each night. Ravens had been sent ahead of the journey, so fresh horses and drivers were waiting along the way. The relay system was impressive in its efficiency but it meant that Dorian hardly got to take a break from the wagon. He’d be damned if he’d miss one now.

“I believe I’ll join him outside,” Dorian said, and scooted along the bench. He bit back grunt as his joints started to remind him of how long he’d been sitting in that blasted seat. He pushed aside the thick canvas that made up the wagon’s cover, and blinked in the mid-day sun. He emerged from his wooden prison, staff in hand, and nearly stumbled when he put his feet on solid ground.

“Careful, Sparkler,” Varric chuckled. The dwarf was following him out of the wagon.

“I appreciate your concern, Varric,” Dorian grunted. He steadied himself and hobbled away. Maker, he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to stand up straight. He leaned on his staff for support.

Varric chuckled and stretched his arms over his head. “Looks like we’re working our way into the mountains now,” he said.

“I’m sure that means the going will get even bumpier,” Dorian tutted. “Lovely.”

“It also means we’re getting closer,” Varric replied soberly. “We’re probably halfway now…”

Dorian turned to look at the dwarf. “We’ll make it in time, Varric,” Dorian said, his voice softer. However much Dorian loathed this wagon trip, he knew it had to be even worse for Varric. The dwarf spent most of his waking hours fretting over Hawke’s condition. He knew Varric was worried that his friend would expire before they even got a chance to get him help at Skyhold.

“Yeah,” Varric said. “He’ll make it. He has to.” He didn’t sound completely convinced.

Dorian turned and moved closer to Varric’s side, almost able to make it without limping. “We’ve been keeping him stable,” Dorian said. He wondered if he shouldn’t put his hand on Varric’s shoulder; the dwarf always seemed to appreciate it when Adaar did so. He held back. “For as surly as he is, Gerald really does know what he’s doing.”

“You’re doing a lot of work too,” Varric said, turning to look up at Dorian.

“Me? Hardly,” Dorian chortled. “I’m a glorified power source.”

“Gerry couldn’t do it without you,” Varric insisted. “You’re helping, Dorian. And I appreciate it. Hawke… _will_ appreciate it.”

“Yes, well. He can thank me when he wakes up,” Dorian said. They were getting dangerously close to _sentimental_ territory, and Dorian didn’t think either of them were currently equipped for it.

Thankfully, Gerald came stalking back toward the wagon just in time to ruin the moment. “Driver says we’re leaving soon,” he grunted. “Lunch will be on the road _again_ , so better take care of any business now while you can.” And with that, he hefted himself back into the wagon.

“Thanks, Gerry,” Varric called after him.

“ _Gerald_ ,” was the exasperated response.

“You know, you probably shouldn’t badger him like that,” Dorian tutted. He leaned forward to stretch out one of his legs.

“He’ll come around to it,” Varric chuckled. “I had to give him a nickname - it’s my thing.”

“Yes, but _Gerry_?”

“Well, I thought about Grumpy, but figured that might piss him off a little _too_ much,” Varric replied with smirk.

Dorian laughed.

The two of them spent a few more minutes loitering beside the wagon. The sun shining down on Dorian warmed his skin against the cool bite of the outside air. They were getting closer and closer to the mountains, and he wanted to enjoy that warmth while he still could. Much sooner than Dorian would have liked, it was time for them to cram themselves back into the wagon.

Dorian sighed as he took his seat again. “Any change?” he asked Gerald, who was leaning in over top of Hawke. A thin stream of magic flowed through his outstretched hand.

“No,” Gerald replied. “Still stable for now.” He gave a start as the wagon stuttered into motion. His magic abruptly cut off and he nearly fell on top of Hawke.

“Easy there,” Varric said. His hand shot forward and held Gerald by the shoulder. “Don’t want you tumbling over.” He pulled Gerald back so the mage could steady himself.

“Right,” Gerald replied. “...thank you.” He settled back into his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He closed his eyes and let out a huff as he tried to make himself comfortable. They all settled into a comfortable silence, and it wasn’t long before Gerald was snoring softly.

Maker, how did he fall asleep so easily? Dorian seethed with jealousy; it had taken him nearly an hour to fall asleep earlier. He looked down at Hawke - also asleep - and studied the man’s gaunt and bruised face.

“Varric,” he said, looking back up at the dwarf. He kept his voice soft, not wanting to wake Gerald. “A thought just struck me.”

“Oho. Do share, Sparkler,” the dwarf replied.

“Your nicknames - you said that they’re you’re thing,” Dorian said. “But I can’t help but notice that you don’t have one for your sleeping friend here.” He gestured down at Hawke.

“Hawke?” Varric leaned forward and looked down at the man in question. “Hawke is...a tough one. I mean, Hawke is Hawke.”

“Hawke is Hawke,” Dorian repeated.

“Yes,” Varric replied. “Nothing I tried seemed to really _fit_. I called him Chuckles for a while, and it ended up feeling too weird.” Varric laughed.

“Chuckles? Isn’t that your nickname for _Solas_?” Dorian asked.

“It fit him better,” Varric replied with a smirk. “Funnier that way.”

“Yes, I suppose so. At least Cal seems to get a kick out of it,” Dorian said, a fond smile on his face.

“ _Cal_ is it?” Varric’s grin widened.

“The Inquisitor,” Dorian corrected. His brow furrowed as he mentally kicked himself. He tried not to use the Inquisitor’s given name with anybody but _him_. He looked down at Hawke again

“The Inquisitor. Sure, sure.” Dorian could practically _hear_ the satisfied smile in Varric’s voice. “So...no, I guess Chuckles didn’t quite fit Hawke in the end,” Varric said after a moment. Apparently he was letting Dorian get away with his slip-up.

“Does nobody use his given name, truly?” Dorian asked.

“Not much. His family did, when they were...well. Around,” Varric replied, and Dorian grimaced. “Now it’s either Hawke, or Champion, and he doesn’t like that one very much. Though, Fenris sometimes called him Garrett. When he didn’t think anybody else was listening.”

“When nobody was listening, or nobody was _supposed_ to be listening?” Dorian asked.

“Same difference in the end,” Varric replied with a smirk. “Hey, I have to keep an ear open for material, Sparkler.”

“Of course you do. Silly me.” Dorian wondered what sort of things he’d be reading about _himself_ in some of Varric’s future works. He hoped the dwarf would do his dashing good looks justice.

“Speaking of your writing, have you’ve written ahead to Fenris?” he asked curiously. Dorian assumed the elf would want to be the first to know.

“Not yet,” Varric replied. “I was going to wait until we got back to Skyhold, and we were sure that Hawke...well. That Hawke was going to live.”

“Ah,” Dorian said. He supposed that made sense. Why have Fenris rush back, only to find a corpse waiting for him? It was morbid, but something Varric must have considered.

The two of them fell into an uncomfortable silence. Great going, Dorian. He needed to turn this around. He glanced down at Hawke, then over to Varric, who was wearing a troubled expression.

“So, Varric,” Dorian said, keeping his voice light. “Do tell. Hawke and Fenris. Were they…truly married?” Dorian asked. “I don’t remember reading _that_ in your Tale of the Champion.” Dorian had read Varric’s book, and had been struck by relationship between the Champion and the former slave. But he couldn’t recall any sort of nuptials being mentioned - the romance and reunion scenes themselves had been vague enough on their own.

“Married? I don’t think it was official, no,” Varric replied.

“But that ring that the Inquisitor found…”

“Fenris gave it to him, yes. I don’t know if it was an official offer of an engagement and all that. Hawke was over the moon regardless.” Varric smiled fondly to himself. “I even asked him about it later on, not long before the whole thing with Meredith happened.”

“‘Varric,’ Hawke said. ‘I don’t know. If it is, then I’m happy. And if it isn’t, then I’m still happy. I just want to be with him. You know that.” Varric shook his head. “And I did know that. We _all_ knew that, and most of us were thrilled when the whole saga finally played itself out.” Varric shrugged.

“But Hawke is a noble, and the Champion of Kirkwall. There wasn’t an expectation of him to marry somebody more…” Dorian trailed off.

“Human?” Varric supplied.

Dorian felt his face heat up. Well, yes. It sounded bad when you came out and just said it like that. “More alike in status. Also, someone who could provide him with an heir.”

“Oh sure, there were expectations. But Hawke didn’t care,” Varric replied, and shrugged.

“How idealistic,” Dorian murmured. He looked down at Hawke and quietly studied the man’s face. Underneath the bruises and overgrown beard was the gaunt face of the handsome man he’d met months before. How the noble women must have thrown themselves at him back in Kirkwall. And yet...he’d followed his heart.

“Something tells me we’re not just talking about Hawke here,” Varric said.

Dorian tore his gaze away from Hawke’s face and looked over to the dwarf. He did not appreciate that smug look he was met with. “Why, Varric. I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about.” He gave Varric a winning smile.

“We’re still playing this game, are we?” Varric shifted in his seat and shook his head.

“The game never ends, my friend,” Dorian replied.

“Well, it’s not a game to the Inquisitor,” Varric said, and Dorian’s smile faded just a little. He hadn’t expected such a direct response.

“I...I know that.” Dorian ducked his head, suddenly unable to meet Varric’s gaze.

“Good,” Varric said. “I only believe you when you say that because I’ve seen how you are when you’re with him. There’s something between you, Sparkler. Something _real_. And believe me, I know what love looks like.”

“Varric, I…” Dorian’s throat was dry. Had Varric just said the word ‘love’ in reference to him? Dorian hadn’t even been bring _himself_ to say that word aloud.

“I didn’t mean for this to get all serious,” Varric said, holding a hand up. “It just…” He looked down at Hawke. “You don’t want to end up regretting things you did - or didn’t - get to say or do.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “And something tells me we’re not just talking about me here, Varric.” Oh good. His voice didn’t sound as rough as he’d feared it would.

Varric laughed at that. “Maybe we’re not,” he said. “Maybe we--”

Varric was cut off by a sudden moaning sound. Dorian sat forward and looked down at Hawke. The man’s mouth was open, and he let out another pained moan, this one louder than the last.

“Shit! Hawke?” Varric leaned over, his musings on love and regret completely forgotten. Hawke’s eyelids fluttered and he grunted. “Is he waking up?” Varric looked up to Dorian; there was a panicked light in his eyes.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Dorian sputtered. He looked to Gerald, who was somehow still asleep. “Gerald,” he said sharply. The mage jerked awake just as Hawke began to thrash under his thick blanket.

“What?” Gerald sat up, clearly disoriented. He leveled a glare at Dorian, who simply glared and pointed down at the floor of the wagon? “What? Oh, fuck,” he said, and and leaned down to press his hand against Hawke’s forehead.

“Is he having a seizure?” Dorian asked. His heart was pounding. This was something new - the whole time they’d been dealing with him, Hawke had been unconscious and very still. Now...

Hawke’s body jerked around, his unbroken arm shooting out from under the blanket. He grasped at the air and Gerald had to move his head to the side, lest he be struck.

“No,” Gerald replied. “He’s not seizing…” His hand glowed as he began to pour healing magic into Hawke. Rather than calming the man, it seemed to make matters worse. Hawke jerked his head away and then tried to sit up. Gerald cursed again and pulled his hand back.

Hawke was sitting up now, the blanket thrown off of his bandaged torso. His eyes were suddenly open, though one was so swollen with bruising it might as well remain closed. His good eye scanned his surroundings wildly. He was breathing fast and heavy. There was a reedy quality to it that Dorian thought sounded bad.

“...Hawke?” Varric’s voice was soft. When it didn’t garner a response, he spoke again. Louder, this time. “Hawke? Can you hear me, big guy?”

Hawke’s head snapped to the sound of Varric’s voice. He made a sound in the back of his throat that almost sounded like a word. Varric’s face fell as Hawke shied away from him.

“Messere Hawke,” Gerald said. He leaned in with a hand outstretched. Hawke turned to look at the mage, his eyes wide with panic. “Please lie back down. You’re very unwell.” Gerald began to channel healing magic into his hand. When Gerald’s fingers suddenly lit up with a swirl of glowing blue and teal, Hawke _screamed._

Hawke backed away from Gerald, scooting himself across the wooden floor of the wagon bed. There was a blossom of blood under one of his bandages as he stressed a wound during his efforts. Caught by surprise, Gerald’s magic accidently flared even brighter. Hawke screamed again, his voice raw and wild.

Even as Gerald’s magic sputtered out, Hawke was still trying to get away. There was nowhere for him to go, though. His wide back was pressed against the front of the wagon bed. His eyes, wide and panicked, flickered all around.

The wagon ground to a stop and somewhere outside, somebody was shouting. They must have heard the screaming.

“What’s wrong with him??” Varric asked.

“I don’t know!” Gerald hissed.

There was more panicked shouting from outside, and Dorian could feel the air in the wagon growing heavier. The blanket wrapped around Hawke’s legs was starting to flutter, while the floorboards beneath Dorian’s feet began to groan. Dorian gasped as the wood next to his seat snapped, and a jagged crack raced along it. He looked to Hawke, who was still pressed against the boards and breathing heavily. And _floating._

The Champion of Kirkwall was a renowned Force mage, wasn’t he?

“Gerald,” Dorian snapped. “Can you put him back to sleep?”

“What? He just woke up! We just have to find a way to calm him down,” Varric said.

There was another snap as a floorboard cracked apart. Dorian could see the canvas ceiling of their wagon sagging inward, straining at where it was held to the wooden frame. “There isn’t time,” Dorian hissed. Outside, there was still more shouting. Something was holding the wagon’s canvas shut; the soldiers couldn’t get inside.

The air inside was growing heavier still; it felt like something was putting pressure to every inch of Dorian. “He can’t be reasoned with now. He’s in a panic, and…” Dorian took a labored breath. The pressure was getting worse.

Hawke was out of his mind now, and unable to control his own magic. This was bad. If they let it go on any longer, the man might crush the wagon - and them with it.

“Shit,” Varric hissed. He could feel it now.

Gerald understood. “Help me,” he said to Dorian, and Dorian nodded. He reached out, dragging his hand up through the heavy air. He focused on Gerald and tried to send his power out toward him. It would have worked better with a staff, but Dorian doubted he’d be able to pick his up now.

An even stream of pure magical energy connected the two of them. It hummed and the pressure around Dorian lessened slightly. The board under Dorian’s foot snapped in half as Hawke reacted to the buzz of magic.

Geraled leaned in, one hand outstretched, and winced as Hawke focused on him. The Champion was babbling something to himself now, still floating a foot above the cracking floorboards. Gerald sagged under the weight of the Force magic, but still managed to grit out a sleep spell. Dorian pushed his own energy through to help strengthen it.

A shock of purple light shot through the air and hit Hawke square in the chest. Hawke gasped, then slumped forward. His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a snore. And with that, Hawke was no longer floating. As his ass thumped back down against the floor, the hold of his magic immediately released.

Dorian took a wheezing breath and sagged back in his seat. The wagon shuddered and groaned as all of the wood settled. The canvas snapped back into place, and one of the Inquisition scouts was finally able to open the back. He poked his head in through the opening.

“Maker’s breath, are you lot all right back here?” he squawked. He looked around the wagon in confusion, eyes coming to rest on the prone form of the Champion.

“We’re all right now,” Dorian said. He managed to pull himself back upright with a grunt. “Give us a moment, will you? We had a slight issue with our charge.” The scout looked at Dorian, and seemed like he was about to raise a protest.

“You heard the man,” Gerald said sharply. “Close that canvas and leave us for now.” He was shaking with the effort to hold himself up in his seat now.

“Yes, ser,” the scout replied smartly. He pulled his head back and fastened it shut again.

Gerald groaned and let himself flop back into his seat.

“Nice one, Gerry,” Varric said. The dwarf was red in the face and shiny with sweat.

“Gerald,” the mage replied, but there was no bite to his voice this time.

_“Gerald_ ,” Varric said. “Please tell me, what in the sweet fuck was _that_?”

“I don’t know,” Gerald admitted. He slid down to the floor and started to make his way over to Hawke.

“I’ll tell you what that was - it was a big problem,” Varric said.

This loss of control was a sign that there might be more wrong with Hawke than they’d first thought. Not only was his mana out of balance, but now there was the possibility he was even more vulnerable to demonic influence. The very thought made Dorian sick to his stomach. Even if they healed Hawke’s body, they might not be able to save his mind.

He thought of Adaar, and of having to be the one to tell him that Hawke had become possessed. Or been crushed by his own magic. He thought of Varric having to endure his friend dying all over again. Of having to write another bloody letter. No. They would fix this.

“This doesn’t change our plan,” Dorian said, his voice firm. “We get him back, and get him healed.”

Varric looked up, clearly surprised by Dorian’s resolve. Gerald, who was kneeling on the floor near Hawke, had looked to him as well.

“Yeah. That’s the right idea, Sparkler,” Varric agreed after a moment.

Dorian looked down at Hawke, bandaged and bound by their magic. “Well, maybe the plan changes a little,” he admitted. “Let’s just make sure he doesn’t wake up until we get back.” Both Gerald and Varric nodded to that.

By chance, Hawke took that moment to let out a little snore.

Good. So, they were all in agreement then. They would make it back to Skyhold, and they would fix all of this.

No more regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, I'm lurking on Tumblr at [minwrathous](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com/)!


	10. Spirit Healer

**** Somehow, they made it back to Skyhold without any further setbacks. Varric let out a sigh of relief as the wagon rumbled across the stone bridge that led into the keep. He could hear the shouts of the guards outside clearing the way for the wagon.

“You two did it,” Varric said to a very tired-looking Dorian and a half-asleep Gerald. “We made it back to Skyhold.”

“Of course we did,” Dorian said. “Was there ever any doubt?”

“You say that like you did the hard work,” Gerald grumbled. There was the barest hint of a smile lurking on his face though. Varric knew the man took pride in all of the work he’d done. And both Varric and Dorian knew how hard Gerald had tried.

“Gerald, have I mentioned lately how much I love the pleasure of your company?” Dorian replied with a good-natured laugh. Of course, none of them could let things get  _ too _ sincere.

“I don’t know,” Gerald replied. “I’ve learned to ignore you, so I don’t know how often you say anything in particular.”

“Gerald, my friend, I’m really going to miss you once we get out of this wagon,” Varric said.

Whatever acidic reply Gerald had in mind went unsaid. The wagon had come to a stop, and an attendant was pulling open the canvas. Varric found himself blinking in the mid-afternoon light of one of Skyhold’s main courtyards. “Welcome back, Messere Tethras,” the attendant said.

“Glad to be back,” Varric murmured. He stole a quick look down at Hawke before scooting toward the exit. “Is there a healer ready for us?” he asked.

“Yes,” the attendant replied. “We have a stretcher here; we’ll take your charge to him right away.”

“Good,” Varric said as he hopped down out of the wagon. His sore joints and muscles protested as he began to stretch out. Gerald and Dorian followed him out of the wagon, though they didn’t go far. The two of them needed to oversee the attendants that would be moving Hawke from the wagon.

Varric forced himself to relax a little. The hard part was over - they’d made it safely to Skyhold, and now Hawke was going to get the help he needed. Varric crossed his arms over his chest and watched as a swarm of attendants descended on the wagon to help move the Champion.

Some of the soldiers were shooing onlookers away from their section of the courtyard. There were a lot of curious people in Skyhold, and their party’s arrival was gathering quite a crowd. Very few knew the truth of who was in the wagon, but the busybodies were doing their best to find out. Varric was glad for the soldiers’ help. He didn’t want all of those bored nobles and merchants gawking at his ailing friend. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if any of them would even be able to _ recognize _ the Champion of Kirkwall like he was now...  But still, Hawke’s pain shouldn’t be some sort of spectacle for them.

Varric wondered how long it would take for someone to figure out that the Champion of Kirkwall had returned to them from the dead. Once it was realized, word would spread like wildfire. 

“Are you well, Varric?” Dorian sidled up next to the dwarf and gave him a concerned look.

“Me? Sure, Sparkler,” Varric replied. “Just...anxious for them to get him to the infirmary.”

Dorian nodded. “They’re going to take good care of him,” he said, and put a hesitant hand on Varric’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, I know,” Varric replied. They had gotten Hawke onto the stretcher and were starting to extract it from the wagon. “I think I’ve just been existing in this state of constant worry this whole damn wagon ride, and now that we’re here, I still can’t shake it,” he admitted. 

“Positive thoughts, my friend,” Dorian said. “Think only positive thoughts. For instance, as soon as we get our friend Hawke here settled in, I plan on sneaking into the Inquisitor’s private bath and having an hour-long soak.”

“And how long have you been planning that?” Varric chuckled.

“Since the Crossroads, when I first laid eyes on our wagon,” Dorian said solemnly.

Varric laughed and felt a bit of weight fall from his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

“Set him down here, please.” Varric watched as the attendants carrying Hawke’s stretcher moved toward a large wooden table. They’d made it to the infirmary and were taking orders from the healer who’d be seeing to Hawke. Varric recognized the healer - a white-haired elf named Surana. He’d been with the Inquisition since Haven, and had personally patched Varric up a few times.

Huh. Somehow, Varric had missed that the elf was a spirit healer.

“That’s good,” Surana said as the attendants carefully transferred Hawke from the stretcher onto the table. Varric watched with bated breath as the attendants stepped back, taking the the stretcher with them. 

“Right, then. Thank you all for your help.” Surana looking around at them, then added, “now, I’m afraid I’ll need the lot of you to clear out.” He smiled kindly, but there was no mistaking the firm tone of an order being given. The attendants bowed and shuffled off, leaving the stretcher propped up next to the doorway - they already knew the drill.

The healer turned his gaze to Varric’s happy trio. “I’m sorry, but that includes you three as well,” he said, still smiling. 

“I’m not going to be dismissed like this,” Gerald protested. “I’ve spent nearly a fortnight caring for this man in a bloody wagon. I intend to see this through.”

Varric was ready to smooth things over immediately. During their time together on the road, he’d learned how just sharp of tongue Gerald possessed; he was only getting started.

Surana, however, seemed unconcerned.

“I appreciate the work you’ve done,” Surana replied. “I’m not doubting how much you’ve cared for this man.” He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “But I suppose there were no mirrors in that wagon, were there?”

“Wh-what?” Gerald sputtered. He blinked, caught off guard by Surana’s answer.

“To be blunt, you look half-dead yourself. You’re in no shape to assist,” Surana continued. “And I think you should rest.”

“I’m fine,” Gerald crossed his arms over his chest. The bags under his eyes and constant blink told another story.

“You have been working awful hard, pal,” Varric said lightly. “You might want to think about getting some  _ real  _ sleep.”

“Varric’s right, Gerald,” Dorian chimed in. “None of us rested easily along the way.”

Gerald opened his mouth to protest again, but Varric beat him to it. “Look, Gerald,” Varric said. “You got him this far. You kept him alive. We’re not going to forget that.”

On the table, Hawke stirred and moaned in his sleep.

“I…” Gerald looked unsure, and momentarily distracted by Hawke. “The sleep spell. It’s weakening. You need to…”

“I understand,” Surana said. “I received word ahead of your arrival.” He moved to the table and put a hand on Hawke’s forehead. “Problems with his magic control and mana. You’re keeping him asleep, else he wakes and panics.”

“You already know?” Gerald looked dumbfounded, and a little unsteady on his feet.

“Yes,” Surana replied. The hand on Hawke’s forehead began to glow with a cool blue light. “I’ve been given periodic updates from your journey,” he murmured. 

“That’d be me,” Varric said. Adaar had asked him to keep Leliana informed of their progress. He’d kept things short and sweet, focusing mostly on Hawke’s condition, and sometimes the speed. Dorian looked to him, surprised. “What? I’m a writer. I was asked to write. It’s what I do.”

“I never even saw you pick up a quill,” Dorian said, shaking his head.

“You were always out of the wagon before it barely had a chance to stop,” Varric replied. “You had other things to think about; you weren’t going to notice me sending a bird or two to Leliana.” He chuckled at the look of annoyance on Dorian’s face, but the laughter quickly died off when he glanced over at Gerald.

“Well, I suppose you have everything you need then, don’t you?” Gerald sniffed. Varric raised an eyebrow. Shit. Had he insulted the guy? 

“I’ll be of no further use to you after all.” Gerald’s expression darkened.

“Please,” Surana said. “There’s no need for dramatics.” Varric’s eyes widened at that. 

“I’ll need your help once you’ve had a chance to rest, “Surana continued. “I want more details, as well as your advice. But for now, I’ll get the Champion stabilized and settled in.” Varric glanced over at Gerald, who seemed to be caught mid-gripe. Well, he had to admit that it was interesting to see somebody who wasn’t willing to humor Gerald’s moods.

Surana pointed to a wooden door that was set opposite from the one they’d entered. “There are open cots in the back. Please, get some sleep.”

Gerald looked like he was about to argue, but instead closed his mouth and turned away from the elf. Varric wanted to speak to him, to let him know that it wasn’t anything personal. But before he could even begin to form words, Gerald was walking stiff-legged to the door. He pulled it open and disappeared into the dim back room.

“Well, that was awkward,” Dorian said. The door clicked shut and the Tevinter winced. “So, I suppose this is a good time to take my leave as well.” He looked to Surana, who was quietly gathering dried herbs together on a small table.

“Do you need to use a cot, or...no, I suppose not. You live here already.” Surana shook his head and smiled to himself.

“I do indeed,” Dorian said. “Though before I rest, I have a few things to attend to.” He winked at Varric, then moved toward the exit.

“Do keep me updated on how things go,” Dorian continued. “And don’t let Gerald leave without saying a proper goodbye.”

“You got it, Sparkler,” Varric chuckled. With a bow, Dorian quickly took his leave. After all, he had an appointment with a hot bath.

“And you’ve no need for a cot either, do you, Serah Tethras?” Surana was grinding something with a mortar and pestle. A fresh medicinal scent prickled at Varric’s nose. Elfroot. It was always elfroot.

“No cot for me,” Varric replied. “But I’m not leaving either.”

Surana paused his grinding and looked up, lips pursed.

“Sorry, Healer, but I’m seeing this through,” Varric continued, unwilling to let Surana get a word in first. “I’m not as tired as poor Gerry, so sending me off to bed without supper won’t work. And trust me - nothing else will either. I’m staying with Hawke,” Varric replied.

This wasn’t just wanting to see the job done. This was  _ personal.  _

The two of them regarded one another for a silent moment, and Surana was the first to break. He sighed and shook his head. “Get a chair then, and sit down.” Clearly, he was in no mood to argue with a stubborn dwarf. Instead, he added a bit of dried flower to his mortar and went back to grinding.

Varric took that as a sign that he’d won. Satisfied, the dwarf went over to a table near the window and grabbed one of its wooden chairs. He picked it up and moved it closer to Hawke’s exam table. He settled in, just far enough away that he wouldn’t be getting in the healer’s way.

“I didn’t want to be so forceful with him,” Surana said as Varric crossed his arms over his chest. “I just...wanted you to know that.” He was still adding more herbs to his paste.

“What? Oh, Gerald?” Varric glanced back at the closed door and wondered if the other mage was actually trying to get some sleep. More likely, he was pressed up against the door, trying to listen in on what he was missing. “He’ll be fine. After some sleep, maybe he’ll be a little less cranky. Maybe.” Varric chuckled. Honestly, he had his doubts.

“Really?” Surana hummed. “I hope he doesn’t begrudge me or take it personally. I could just tell how tired he was. Plus he seemed the type to...well. Hover.” He set the pestle down and carried his bowl of herbs back to Hawke.

“You’re probably right,” Varric said. He watched as the elf set the bowl down just above Hawke’s shoulder. “He’d insist on helping. I don’t think Gerald does _sit and_ _watch quietly_ very well.”

“But I’m sure you do, right?” Surana glanced up from his work and met Varric’s eye. The bastard was  _ grinning _ . Varric let out a surprised bark of laughter. 

“You wound me, Healer,” Varric said. He pantomimed pulling an arrow out of his chest.

“Well, I’ll have to help you with that later,” Surana said with a chuckle of his own. He began to gently remove the bandage that was wound around Hawke’s head. “Messere Hawke here is first in line.”

Varric fell silent as Surana got to work. He did many things that had become very familiar to Varric - removing bandages, checking wounds, applying poultices. It all seemed rather routine. 

After a while, Varric impatiently shifted in his seat. He was starting to wonder why they’d been in such a rush to get here if this healer was going to do the same work as the others. Why wasn’t he doing something more... _ spirit-y _ ? He tried to push that annoyance aside and told himself to get a grip. 

“He’s been well cared for,” Surana said, breaking the silence and pulling Varric from his thoughts. “I’ll be sure to commend your friend - Gerald, was it? - for his work, assuming he’ll speak with me later.” Surana wiped his hands on a rag, then moved to set it on the edge of his potions table.

“He might listen to you if it’s just you showering him in praise,” Varric said. He shifted in his chair again. Was that it then? He watched Surana carefully - the elf seemed to be silently studying Hawke.

“We can only hope,” Surana murmured. He moved back to the head of the exam table and exhaled. “Now, for the tricky part.” He glanced up at Varric. “I have to remove all of the spells that are acting on him now - the sleep spell, the healing spell, the mana replenishing… All of the work they’ve previously done must be  _ undone _ if I’m to fully understand what’s going on.”

“That’s why I preferred privacy.” Surana continued and gestured around to the empty infirmary. “And for Gerald not to see what I’m doing.” He winced out of sympathy.

“Oh,” Varric said. Well, shit. That made sense, didn’t it? If Surana was really planning on erasing all of his work, Gerald really  _ would  _ have taken it personally. 

“Yes. Oh.” Surana sighed. “So, I should be able to keep everything under control. ...but if at some point it isn’t, just remember that I  _ did  _ suggest you leave earlier.” He smirked once more at Varric before he cracked his knuckles and put his hands on Hawke’s bare shoulders.

“Here we go,” Surana said, and took a deep steadying breath. Varric took a breath as well. He sure hoped this mage knew what he was doing...

Surana began to mutter under his breath, words moving so quickly that Varric didn’t even bother trying to comprehend. His hands were still lightly gripping Hawke’s broad shoulders. Varric craned his neck to see what sort of effect the magic was having. Nothing, as far as he could tell.

Surana fell silent, and for a moment, everything was still. Then, there was a rush of air and the crack of something  _ breaking _ . Hawke’s body shuddered once. Twice. 

Varric let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Hawke gasped and tried to surge upward. Surana held firm, his surprisingly strong hands keeping the bigger man in place. “Easy now,” Surana murmured. “You have to lie back.” Hawke, uncaring, kept straining to sit up. 

Varric watched, frowning. He’d witnessed a few of these episodes during the journey to Skyhold. None had been as bad as the initial panic that had threatened to destroy the wagon, but it was still disturbing to watch. He didn’t like seeing Hawke in such a distressed state. And pretty soon, things were going to start floating.

As if on cue, Hawke started to rise from the table. Surana let out a surprised grunt and redoubled his efforts to hold the bigger man down. “You sure you don’t need some help, Healer?” Varric asked.

“No, no. I’ve...I’ve got this,” Surana replied. “Lie  _ back,  _ please _ , _ ” he said said to Hawke. The healer’s hands began to glow before Varric could warn him about Hawke’s new-found aversion to magic.

“Nnnn,” Hawke groaned. He lashed out with an arm and nearly managed to hit the healer.

“Honestly,” Surana grumbled. He pulled back on Hawke’s shoulders again. This time he had his magic on his side, and he was able to drag the struggling man down to the table again. When Hawke tried to surge upward again, some sort of invisible bond kept him in place.

Varric let out a sigh of relief.

“You mentioned him having fits like this in your letter,” Surana said. “I’m afraid I didn’t consider just how strong he’d be.”

“Yeah, he’s always been on the brawny side,” Varric said, and managed a laugh. “You should see him when he’s not half-starved…”

“I meant his magic,” Surana chuckled. “He hasn’t responded to anybody then? No words?”

“No,” Varric said.

“Right, then,” Surana said, and lapsed into silence. He was looking down at Hawke, a curious expression on his face. He nodded to himself and took a steadying breath. Varric watched from the edge of his chair.

Hawke was still struggling against the invisible magic that held him to the table. His body was floating a few inches above its wooden surface. Surana kept his grip on Hawke’s shoulders; he wasn’t letting the Champion rise any higher.

“I was there, you know,” Surana said, his voice surprisingly soft and calm. His eyes were on Hawke, and Varric couldn’t tell who he was talking to. Was it himself? Varric? No. He was speaking to the uncomprehending Hawke.

“I was in Kirkwall, at the Gallows.”

Varric gave a start and focused in on the elf.  _ What _ ? Surana had been with the Inquisition this long and Varric was only learning this now? How had he missed  _ that _ tidbit? He thought back, wracking his brain for even the briefest bit of memory. So many of the mages had died that day at the Gallows. Surely, Varric had to remember this particular elf as one of the survivors. But...nothing. 

Surana continued to speak softly to Hawke.

“It’s all right. There’s no reason to remember me. I just…” He moved his hands up to gently frame Hawke’s head. He lightly pressed against both of Hawke’s temples. Hawke shuddered and writhed, but that invisible force was still holding him in place.

“I saw you stand up to Meredith for us. For me. Watched you fight her at the end, though I wanted to run and hide. I couldn’t look away..” Surana’s hands began to glow a cool blue-green, and he closed his eyes in concentration. The magic lit up Hawke’s face as well; it highlighted every cut and tightened bit of skin as the man grimaced and continued to struggle.

“I care for every one of the people who come through here,” Surana murmured. “But you… You helped me.” The air around him was charged with power, and Varric could feel something shifting. It was hauntingly familiar.

“...I’m going to fix this,” the elf said. “We’re going to make it right.”

Surana opened his eyes. They were glowing the same blue-green as his hands, twin points of bright light. And for a brief second, everything clicked. Varric was reminded of  _ him _ . He shuddered and dug his fingers into the arm of his chair. 

But… No. No, this wasn’t exactly the same. There was no hiss of barely-contained power, no cracking of skin stretched too tight over otherworldly light, no booming voices as his friend was lost in the swirling rage of possession. This wasn’t Anders. This wasn’t Vengeance.

An aura of calm was pouring off of the healer. It was powerful, but more importantly, it was controlled. And  _ gentle _ . The healing energy poured from the elf’s hands into Hawke, and gradually the man began to cease his struggling. Hawke’s breathing slowed and he slowly touched back down against the table. 

It was working! Varric sat up a little straighter and he began to feel a flare of hope leap up inside of his chest. He gripped at the arms of his chair and watched as Surana moved his hands from Hawke’s head and began to spread the energy down over the rest of his body. 

_ Sometimes _ , Varric thought,  _ magic is pretty damn useful.  _

The blue-green light began to flicker, then fade away. After a moment, all that was left was the bright points of Surana’s eyes. Varric blinked, and they were suddenly dim as well. The elf sighed and reached out to catch himself against the edge of the table as his body sagged.

“Healer,” Varric said, hopping up out of his chair. He moved toward the table and reached out for the elf, but stopped himself just before touching. He wasn’t going to fuck anything up, was he? His hands hovered, unsure.

“Oh,” Surana said, and turned to look to him. He smiled, and Varric could see how tired his pale face looked now. “Thank you, but I’m all right. Just a little drained after that.”

“That was a pretty impressive light show there,” Varric remarked. He let his arm fall back to his side and took a shuffling step closer to the table. “They weren’t kidding when they promised us a spirit healer to help him…”

“No, they were not,” Surana said. He brushed a bit of Hawke’s hair back and studied the scar that ran along the Champion’s face. Already, it looked less angry than the last time Varric had seen it unbandaged.

“...so, you were there, huh?” Varric looked to Surana. “Kirkwall. The Gallows.”

“Yes,” Surana replied, and shifted uncomfortably. “Nobody really noticed me, I don’t think. I was just another scared mage. He shrugged and reached for his bowl of paste again. “But I was grateful to the Champion for standing up for us.” He spread some of the paste along the scar on Hawke’s face. 

“He’ll be glad to hear that,” Varric said, a little smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll have to tell him when he wakes. But that will be...well. Do you know when?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Surana admitted. “He’s very weak, but he has a much better chance of healing now. His mana is low, but I believe I’ve repaired what was causing it to bleed away.”

“But he’ll wake up and act like himself again eventually, right? No more...screaming and fighting? No more crazy floating?” Varric could hear the desperation in his own voice. 

Surana gave him a kind smile, though there was a touch of pity to it. “I can’t say for sure,” he admitted. “You can see what physically being in the Fade for so long has done to his body. Unfortunately, we don’t know for sure what it’s done to his  _ mind _ . Now, it’s possible his panic was linked to his mana imbalance. But...it might  _ not _ be the reason for it.” 

Surana set his bowl down and wiped his hands on the rag he’d used before. “We just have to wait and see. I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer, Serah Tethras.”

“No, no,” Varric said, shaking his head. “You’ve done so much for him, Healer. You don’t have to apologize.” Varric tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. Even if Hawke’s body was going to get better, what did it matter if his mind didn’t? What if he woke up again and never stopped screaming?

“Still...” Surana said, interrupting Varric’s dark thoughts. “I think we should remain hopeful. The Champion’s strong - he’s gotten this far, after all.” He was smiling at Varric again, this time without pity.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Varric said. He steadied himself and nodded, then reached out to gently put his hand on top of Hawke’s. The last time Varric had felt his friend’s skin, it had been clammy and cool. Now, it was warm. Already, something positive.

“Hawke fought his way out of the fucking Fade. He’s not going to let this stop him.” Varric said.

“It’s going to make for a very good story, isn’t it?” Surana leaned against the table and grinned over at him. Hawke let out a soft snore.

“Damn right it is,” Varric laughed. He patted Hawke’s hand and pulled away from the table. “But right now...I have a letter I need to write as soon as possible. Now that I know Hawke’s not going to die on us.”

“A letter?” Surana asked curiously.

“Yes,” Varric replied. “There’s somebody out there that needs to know that Hawke is alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm sorry. I couldn't stop myself from shoving my Surana into this - he's just the "didn't become The Warden AU" version of himself. But hey. He's pretty useful, no?
> 
> Thank you for reading! As always, I'm lurking on Tumblr at [minwrathous](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com/)!


	11. Read It Again

“How have your memories been, Fen?”

Fenris craned his neck back to look up at Hawke. “What sort of question is that?” Fenris asked, wrinkling his nose. It was late evening, and the two of them were lying naked in Hawke’s bed.

“Just curious. I mean, have you regained more since we...y’know.” Hawke nodded down to his own nakedness, then nodded towards Fenris and made a crude gesture with his hands.

Fenris’s expression soured. He gave Hawke a look that was a mixture of confusion and hurt. “That is not….” Fenris trailed off, at a loss for how to respond. Instead, he rolled to his side and turned his back to the other man.

It had only been a few weeks since the two of them had reconciled and decided to continue their relationship. Things had been good between them. They’d talked openly about their feelings for one another, and how their time apart had weighed on them both.

They’d since had sex again. A lot more sex.

But still, there were pits that they sometimes stumbled into. Obstacles that lay unseen along the new path of their relationship.. And for as long as both Fenris and Hawke had known one another - had _cared for_ one another - they still were learning. So when Hawke said something that pricked at some sensitive nerve, it took a moment to recover.

Fenris felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t pull away from the touch, Hawke scooted in and lay behind him. The bigger man’s body was warm against Fenris’s back. It was comforting, and gradually becoming something _familiar_. Fenris found himself relaxing back against Hawke.

“I’m sorry, Fen. I didn’t mean to make light of it,” Hawke said. He nuzzled at the back of Fenris’s neck, his beard tickling against the elf’s skin. “I know it’s difficult for you,” he murmured. Hawke’s voice rumbled against his neck and Fenris shivered.

“I know,” Fenris admitted with a soft sigh. “I...do not know how to explain it to you.”

Hawke put a cautious arm around Fenris’s waist. “So, it wasn’t the sex, back then?” Hawke offered.

“No. And yes. I…” Fenris made a frustrated sound and put his hand on Hawke’s arm. “I don’t believe it was the act itself, rather the feelings during and after. It was…” Fenris cleared his throat. “It was overwhelming.”

Hawke was silent for a moment. Here, it was Fenris’s turn to be the one who hit the nerve - he knew that Hawke still blamed himself for the fallout of their first ill-fated night together.

“That does not mean it wasn’t good,” Fenris added lightly. His hand slid down Hawke’s arm to his hand so he could lace their fingers together.

“So...it might be connected to your emotions then,” Hawke said thoughtfully, and Fenris shrugged. He‘d tortured himself enough trying to figure it all out; Hawke wasn’t asking anything Fenris hadn’t asked himself dozens of times already. Let the man have his curiosity. “Has it happened much since?” Hawke asked.

Fenris shrugged again. “Flashes,” he replied. “Sensations. Bits and pieces that do not form a whole, no matter how I try to place them together.” Fenris was still working on coming to terms with it. He knew that it might never feel _right_ , but it seemed to hurt less now.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke murmured, nuzzling Fenris’s neck again.

“You need not apologize, Hawke,” Fenris replied, and squirmed at the tickling sensation. “You are not the one who took my memories from me.”

“I know,” Hawke said. “I know, but it just...it’s...it’s _sad.”_ He huffed and hid his face against the back of Fenris’s neck.

Of all the things Hawke could have said, Fenris had not expected _that_. It drew a laugh out of him. “Hawke,” he said. The mage responded only with a despondent sigh and clung more tightly to Fenris. “Hawke,” Fenris said again. He released the man’s hand and wiggled around to his other side so he could face him.

“Look at me,” Fenris said. He put a finger under Hawke’s bearded chin and tilted his head up so their eyes could meet. “I am not the same man I was before these markings were forced upon me. I mourn for the loss of that man, and yes, I would one day like to know who he was. But I cannot let his absence define me. And I must come to terms with the fact that he may always be gone.”

Hawke’s eyes shone at him, liquid gold in the light of the crackling fire, and watery from tears that threatened to fall. They looked at one another, silent. Hawke reached up and cupped Fenris’s cheek.

_“We close?_ ” he said.

Wait. What?

Fenris snapped back to reality.

There was no warm embrace. No crackling fire or soft sheets. There was only harsh sunlight and sand. So much sand.

“What?” Fenris grunted, and pulled back on the reins. His mount, a white courser, whinied and snorted in annoyance. She shook her head and dug her hoof into the dull brown sand in annoyance. Oh. They hadn’t been moving in the first place. He loosened his hold on the reins and leaned over to stroke the side of her head.

“I _said_ , ‘we close?’,” Dalish replied waspishly. She sidled up next to Fenris on her own mount and joined him in overlooking the desert below. “You haven’t gone soft in the head, have you? You’ve been sitting in the sun and staring for long enough…”

The two of them were on a high ridge on the edge of the Hissing Wastes. Fenris and Dalish had been scouting for the remnants of a slaver’s caravan their group had raided the previous day. They were on their way back to the basecamp to report their findings - namely that the slavers who’d previously gotten away weren’t going to be making it out of the desert alive.

Fenris had just crested a ridge to scout out their camp, and had apparently distracted himself with his memories.

“Apologies,” Fenris said. “I was lost in a thought.” He brought a hand up to shield his eyes and peered into the distance.

“Yes, well. As long as it’s the thought you remain lost in, and not this bloody desert,” Dalish grumbled.

“There,” Fenris said. “I see it. Due east.” He pointed into the distance, where he could make out the shape of an Inquisition banner blowing in the desert wind.

“Think we can make it by sundown?” Dalish asked, readying her horse.

“Only one way to know,” Fenris replied. It looked doable.

“Right. Let’s go then. Before you get lost again.” She gave him a look, then urged her horse forward. Fenris followed after her, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

They rode back to camp in a comfortable silence - neither of them were much for small talk. He really did like working with Dalish.

As they rode, Fenris thought back to the memory he’d lost himself in. Something about the light reflecting off the sand had somehow taken him back. Maybe he’d seen a flash of color that had reminded him of Hawke’s eyes. It still happened sometimes - Fenris would see inconsequential things that would tear open the floodgates of his memories.

How had that moment actually ended? Not with the words ‘we close,’ that was for sure.

Ah.

_“You’re amazing_ ,” Fenris murmured softly to himself. That’s what Hawke had said to him as they’d looked into one another’s eyes. Hawke had called him amazing, then kissed him. They’d made love again, and had held one another close before falling asleep.

Fenris’s chest ached when he thought about it. His grip tightened on the reins and he tried to let the feeling pass. He was slowly healing, but it was hard sometimes. Fenris was at least able to think about Hawke with fondness, as well as sadness. He just needed a little more time.

Being out here, doing these meaningful jobs, helped. He was still getting used to having new companions, but it helped too. He was here. He was alive. And he was going to make the best of it.

Fenris wouldn’t trade the memories of the years he’d spent with Hawke for anything. He was thankful for the time they’d had together, though he wished there had been more...

No. Now wasn’t the time to slip back into that darker realm of thoughts. They’d successfully completed a mission, and there were a few more dead slavers in the world. Fenris smiled at the thought. He leaned into the saddle and urged his horse forward.

They made good time back to their camp, arriving just as the sun began to slip down toward the horizon. “I was right,” Fenris said to Dalish as they slowed their horses near the edge of camp.

“I don’t recall you giving me a real answer,” the other elf replied.

“It was implied,” Fenris said, and hopped off of his mount.

“Of course it was,” Dalish replied. She rolled her eyes and dismounted as well.

Fenris merely smirked in return. He let the horse nuzzle his hand before taking her reins and walking her forward.  He wordlessly took the reins of Dalish’s horse from her hand and led both mounts over to where they’d set up a makeshift trough of water. Dalish would handle the mission report while Fenris saw to their horses.

By the time he finished with them, the sun was a sliver of glowing orange against the distant dunes. The coolness of night was creeping in, and some of the Inquisition troops were lighting torches around the camp. Fenris patted his horse’s flank, then wandered off toward the main fire.

“Welcome back,” a man’s voice said as Fenris approached the fire. Stitches was sitting near it, his half-eaten dinner beside him and a book on one knee. “Need any sewing up?”

“Not this time,” Fenris replied. He thought about going to get food for himself, but decided instead he’d rather have a well-earned rest.

“Good. That’s what I like to hear,” Stitches replied as Fenris sank down to take a seat a few feet away. Stitches went back to his reading.

“Mm,” Fenris nodded and closed his eyes. A sense of calm washed over him as he focused on the crackling of the fire. Already, the air had grown cool, and the fire’s heat felt nice against his face. He slowly began to drift off. Apparently killing slavers had taken a little more energy out of him than he’d expected.

A few minutes later, Fenris was pulled from his half-sleep. “Food for you,” a voice said. Dalish was standing over him, holding out a plate of rations. “Before you start snoring too loud.”

“Thank you,” Fenris said, taking the plate. Dalish nodded and moved around the fire to take a seat for herself. Was she already done giving their report? Well, he supposed it was short enough. He picked at the dried meat in front of him and smirked.

_Slavers dead. Chargers alive -_ that about summed it up.

He bit into his dinner just as one of the soldiers sidled up to the fire. “There you are, Serah Fenris,” he said. Fenris recognized him as Aaron, a young Inquisition soldier with a perpetual grin. They’d been traveling together since the Western Approach, and, as always, Fenris rolled his eyes at the added ‘Serah’.

Aaron moved toward Fenris and held out his hand. “Got a raven earlier, while you were out.” Aaron was in charge of their lines of communication out here in the field. He cared for the birds and acted as scribe and messenger. But...the birds didn’t usually come every day, and today was an off day, wasn’t it?

Fenris stared at Aaron’s outstretched arm. The other man was holding a scroll of paper. “For me?” Fenris said, and looked up to find Aaron’s grin directed at him.

“Yep,” was Aaron’s cheerful response. “One of the black-sealed letters, direct relay from Skyhold, and addressed to you. I didn’t know you’d gotten back until just now.”

Black seal? That meant the message was urgent. Fenris felt a spike of worry as he set his plate down and reached out to take the letter. “Thank you,” he murmured, and turned it over in his hands to look at the seal. There it was - a jet black seal of wax set with the symbol of the Inquisition. Fenris’s name was written in neat script just to the side of the seal.

Why was he getting an urgent message from Skyhold? Had something happened to Varric?

“They sent it with one of the fast birds. Must be pretty important. Well…” Aaron trailed off, put off by the way Fenris was silently staring at the seal. “You going to open it?”

Fenris frowned and tore at the seal in response to the man’s question. Aaron took a seat near the fire, clearly curious about the letter’s contents. Fenris ignored his blatant staring, as well as the looks he was getting from Stitches and Dalish. Instead, he focused on unrolling the scroll. He leaned in closer to the fire for a better view.

Fenris was able to recognize Varric’s handwriting right away. All right. So it was _from_ Varric, and not _about_ Varric. He let himself relax a little and concentrated on reading. “Fenris,” he mouthed silently to himself.

His mouth snapped shut as he continued to read.

What?

His vision blurred and he felt light-headed. Was this true?

Hawke. Hawke was...

“Read this to me, please,” Fenris said, his voice hoarse.

“What?” Aaron looked back at him, alarmed.

“Please,” Fenris begged. He held the letter out toward the other man. It was clear to anybody looking that his hand was shaking.

“Sure, sure. I’ll read it for you,” Aaron said.

“You all right there, Fenris?” Stitches asked from the other side of the fire. He was using the tone he usually reserved for his patients. He’d set his journal down in preparation, just in case he needed to rush over to tend to the elf.

Fenris was unable to answer. He waved Stitches’s concern away and then beckoned for Aaron to take the letter. Aaron scooted over toward Fenris, close but not too close.

“Please,” Fenris said to Aaron, and handed the letter to the other man. Fenris let his hand drop to his knee and dug his fingers in to grip the leather of his trousers. This was real, wasn’t it? He wasn’t dreaming.

“Fenris,” Aaron read. He paused for a moment, skimming ahead, then looked up at Fenris with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to question, but the look of desperation that Fenris gave him made him decide otherwise.

Aaron cleared his throat and began to read aloud.

> Fenris,
> 
> I hope this letter finds you well. Hell, I hope this letter finds you at all, seeing as I did a shit job with the last one. What I have to tell you is important - very important. And good. I can’t tell you how nice it is to write some good news down for once.
> 
> Hawke is alive.
> 
> Hawke is alive, and here at Skyhold right now.
> 
> It’s a long story, and one that I’ll be glad to share with you once you’re back here. The short version is that he’s injured and asleep. But, he has a dedicated healer, and he’s no longer in immediate danger. There’s a good chance that he’ll be waking up soon, and I’m pretty sure that you’re the person he wants to see first when he finally does.
> 
> So, consider this an official recall. Come back to Skyhold as soon as you can, Agent Fenris.
> 
> Hurry back.
> 
>   * Varric
> 

> 
> (I’m sorry for all of this, elf. I don’t think there’s any way I can make it up to you, but I’m going to try. The important thing now is that Hawke is alive. I had to write it one more time.)

Aaron finished reading and looked back to Fenris again. It was quiet around the fire as they all took in the contents of the letter. A piece of wood crackled and popped, and Fenris let out the breath he’d been holding.

Back when Fenris had been haunting Skyhold, he’d spent a lot of his time imagining what could have been. What if things had somehow turned out differently? He would turn corners in the darkened Keep at night and expect to find Hawke standing there waiting for him. Phantom messengers roused him from his troubled sleep to tell him the Champion had returned.

But nothing had changed. The scenarios had only been his own desperate desires. Hawke had stayed gone.

Now, it was real. The letter was _real_ , and Fenris was at a loss. He’d spent so much time convincing himself this very thing could never happen that he didn’t know what to do!

Fenris’s heart began to race. He stood up from his seat near the fire and turned toward the tents. He left the fireside, abandoning his dinner and his very concerned companions. Aaron made a noise of surprise, the letter still clutched in his gloved hand.

“Fenris?” Stitches called, but Fenris paid him no mind. He had to pack his bag.

Fenris let himself into his small tent and began to strip it of his few belongings. He grabbed his worn leather bag and had to pause for a moment. He hadn’t noticed how fast his heart was beating before, but now it felt like it was going to pound its way out of his chest. The shaking of his hands also seemed to have spread up his arms, and he was finding it hard to hold onto the herb pouch he was trying to pack.

Alive. Hawke was alive. He had to… Fenris had to…

He shoved the herb pouch into the bigger bag, then began to dig to the bottom. “Where is it?” Fenris hissed to himself. Honestly. How had he misplaced an entire fucking book?

“Fenris,” a voice said from behind him. Fenris jerked upright and turned, automatically trying to reach for the sword that was usually strapped to his back. His hand grabbed only air.

Dalish stood just inside his tent, a look of concern written all over her face. “What are you doing?” she asked, and nodded toward the open pack.

“Packing,” Fenris replied. “You heard Varric’s letter. I have to return to Skyhold.” He let himself relax, but the surge of adrenaline had left him jittery.

“I did,” Dalish said, and nodded. She held out one hand, offering Fenris his own letter again. “You forgot this.”

Fenris reached forward and quickly snatched it. “Thank you,” he said, then shoved it unceremoniously into the pack. Shit. He went back to digging for his book.

“I can see you’re packing,” Dalish said. “How soon are you leaving?”

“Once I’ve gathered my things,” Fenris muttered. “I must go as soon as I can.” Ah! His hands had brushed up against the familiar leather of the book’s spine. It must have migrated to the very bottom of the bag. He eagerly pulled it out again.

“Tonight? That’s idiocy,” Dalish said. “You can’t be serious. Your horse is exhausted and you haven’t gathered any _actual_ supplies for the journey.”

Fenris didn’t respond. He was busy running a finger along a familiar piece of fabric. He held the Book of Shartan in his hands now, with the red favor still wrapped safely around it. “Varric said to hurry; I am going to hurry.” He glanced back up at Dalish, who looked unconvinced.

“Your Hawke is alive,” she said. “I know you wish to make haste, but Fenris, you must take a moment to collect yourself. You’re not _thinking_.” Dalish uncrossed her arms. “If you rush out like a fool, you’ll end up like those bones we use to mark our way out here. Hawke wouldn’t want that, would he?”

Fenris opened his mouth to disagree, but gave pause instead. Was he really letting his emotions get the better of him? He was, wasn’t he? He was still reeling from the news, and yet he was already jumping to action. He _knew_ that he’d need more than just his herbs and his Book of Shartan. He needed rations, water, a map of his own, and a good night’s sleep. He needed a real plan.

Fenris took a deep breath and let it out. “You’re right,” he said, still staring at the book in his hands.

“I know,” Dalish said. Her voice was more gentle than usual. “We’ll help you however we can.”

Fenris tore his gaze from the book and looked up at her. They silently regarded one another moment. “Thank you,” he said.

Dalish nodded. “Pack tonight, but get some rest,” she said, then turned to go. “And Fenris?” She paused and looked to him over her shoulder. “I’m happy for you.” And with that, the other elf left his tent and Fenris was alone again.

Fenris glanced over at the open bag sitting on his bedroll. He would have to re-pack everything. What had he even been thinking earlier? Well. Honestly, he _hadn’t_ been thinking, and that had been the problem. He would take tonight and tomorrow to truly prepare for his journey back to Skyhold. As much as that desperate part of him still wanted to get going as soon as possible, he _knew_ better. It was good that he had new friends who were looking out for him.

He smiled to himself and carefully began to unwind the red favor from its place around the book. Once it was free, he set the book down and held the favor in his hands. Fenris let his fingers play over the much-loved fabric; he still knew every little imperfection. As he tied the favor around his wrist, the motion was still familiar. Comforting.

Hawke was alive - that thought was comforting too. Comforting and exhilarating, both at the same time. Hawke was alive, and soon Fenris would be with him again. Fenris smiled softly at the favor, back in its rightful place. Then, he turned back to his bag.

Fenris had much to do, and Skyhold was a long way away. But Hawke was there, and Fenris didn’t want to keep him waiting.


	12. Guilt

“Any change?” Adaar asked softly. He stood behind Varric, holding a sheaf of papers and smiling kindly. Varric turned to look at him. The dwarf was sitting in a plush chair next to a bed that held the sleeping Hawke. The room was quiet and smelled of medicinal herbs. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the window that overlooked one of the gardens.

“Nothing today,” the dwarf responded. He let the book resting in his lap fall shut. “Still sleeping. But hey, no screaming.” Varric chuckled, but Adaar thought it sounded strained and very, very tired. 

“The healer thinks he’s doing well enough,” Adaar said. He reached down to give Varric’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Varric patted his hand in return.

“That’s what he says every day,” Varric replied. “But...it’s something.”

“It is,” Adaar agreed. 

Adaar’s party had arrived at Skyhold two days ago. He’d finished up his business in Redcliffe and returned as quickly as he could. They’d made much better time than the wagon party, but had still gotten back a few days behind them. It had felt like a huge weight had been lifted from Adaar’s shoulders when he learned that Hawke had made it. Though the Champion was still unconscious, he was recovering. 

“I can sit with him for a little while,” Adaar said. “You should eat something, maybe take a little walk.” He set his papers down on the small table next to the chair.

“I’m all right, Flash,” Varric replied.

“I know, I know,” Adaar said. Dorian had recounted the wagon trip to him the other night. He’d mentioned how Varric had neglected his own comfort and care so he could stay beside Hawke. Adaar knew he was still doing it, only now the dwarf had a better seat.

“Still, why don’t you humor me? Please? I think you could use some fresh air.” He didn’t  _ want _ to order Varric out of the room, but if it came down to it…

Varric frowned, then rubbed at his temple. “I guess a little walk wouldn’t kill me,” he admitted. “At this rate, I’m going to end up permanently smelling like elfroot.”

“It’s not so bad,” Adaar replied with a little grin.

“That’s true. You would know, wouldn’t you?” Varric returned the smile and pulled himself up out of the chair.

“We all had a talk about my elfroot gathering, and I agreed to cut back.”

“Only because I think you picked the Hinterlands clean out of the stuff.” Varric leaned in to adjust Hawke’s blanket before turning to look up at Adaar.

“Fair point,” Adaar replied. He took Varric’s place in the chair, barely managing to settle his larger frame into it. 

“Thanks, Flash,” Varric said. “For everything.”

Adaar nodded in return. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

Adaar watched Varric to make sure the dwarf actually left before turning his attention back to the bed. Hawke lay there, asleep. The same as he had been the day before, and the day before that. 

At least he was looking a little healthier. His facial wounds seemed to be healing well, and somebody had carefully trimmed his beard down. His cheekbones were still too prominent, and there were bags under his eyes, but his skin was less waxy and sallow. In short, Hawke didn’t look quite so much like  _ death _ anymore.

Now he just needed to wake up.

Nobody was quite sure why he was still sleeping. The healer, Surana, swore it was nothing magical. Adaar had checked in during one of Hawke’s exams the day before.  _ His body just needs to recover, _ Surana had said to him.  _ He’s been through a lot, and it’s on him to wake up now. _

Adaar had also asked Solas if there was anything he could do. The elf had responded that Hawke’s dreams were disjointed and hard to reach, like Hawke was trying to hide himself. But Solas had seem even more distracted than usual. Adaar felt like his companion was only half-present for their conversation. Had he really tried his best to assess Hawke? It was...odd.

Adaar had too many other things that he needed to worry about. Solas’s strange behavior wasn’t something that needed to be at the top of the list.

Even Cole hadn’t been able to pull much from Hawke. He’d stood near the Champion and had looked very uncomfortable after a moment of listening. 

“Green. Buzzing and scratching. Drifting past a mirror that is me, but not. Familiar, but not.”

Adaar was used to trying to puzzle out the boy’s strange riddles, but this one still remained a mystery. What did he mean? Was it familiar to Hawke? Or Cole himself? Cole had apologized for being unable to help this time, and had quickly disappeared. 

The lack of explanation for  _ anything _ regarding the sleeping Champion was driving Adaar up the wall. But on the plus side, they all seemed to be in agreement that Hawke wasn’t possessed by anything. He may have been weakened and made more vulnerable, but he was entirely human. 

Asleep, but human.

So for now, all they could do was wait.

Adaar picked up his sheaf of papers and began to leaf through them. He was going to do his best to take advantage of this brief respite. The bulk of the Inquisition’s forces were still returning from the Arbor Wilds, and there was nothing pressing that needed his immediate attention. He would just let himself focus on supporting Varric.

And Hawke.

The afternoon passed quietly for Adaar. He found himself nearly drifting off a few times as he went over his paperwork. Declaring them far too boring to worry about now, he instead picked up the book Varric had left behind. The  _ Tale of the Champion _ . Oh, Varric. Of course he’d be reading that again…

Adaar had read it once before, back when they’d still been in Haven. It had been one of the ways he’d gone about getting to know Varric. And, in a way, Hawke. Adaar opened the book to an early chapter and began to read it aloud.

That was how Varric found Adaar later, recounting Hawke’s own experiences to the sleeping man. In the story, Hawke was just about ready to embark on his Deeproads Expedition. Adaar had been attempting to give voices to the characters, and was in the middle of a Varric line when he finally heard the dwarf chuckling behind him.

“Not too bad, Flash,” Varric said.

“Thanks,” Adaar replied, still using his best Varric voice. "I've been practicing."

The two of them laughed.

Adaar took his leave soon after, but was back again the next afternoon. This time, it didn’t quite take so long to convince Varric to take a break. Adaar settled into the chair and looked to Hawke. No change.

Surana had been by to see him earlier, and the visit had ended the same way they always did. The healer gave an apology, and then an assurance that at least Hawke’s physical healing was going well. His bones, accelerated by magic, had nearly finished mending. And the wound across his face didn’t look so red and angry. It would scar, but Varric was half-convinced Hawke might appreciate how tough it would make him look.

Adaar went through the motions of doing some of his paperwork. He managed to get through a few letters before abandoning it like before. He picked up the  _ Tale of the Champion _ again and flipped it open. He cleared his throat and began to read from where he’d left off.

Adaar read about Hawke going into the Deeproads. Bartrand’s betrayal and the horrors they’d all experienced afterward. Darkspawn. Monsters. Carver Hawke’s illness. Hawke leaving his brother to the care of Grey Wardens. In the end, they were all able to escape and return to Kirkwall. Well, all of them except for the younger Hawke brother.

Adaar read about the guilt Hawke felt over the whole thing. He blamed himself for all of it, didn’t he? He paused for a moment and glanced over at the sleeping man.

“I know how you feel,” Adaar murmured. The voice he used was his own now. “Time and time again, this guilt keeps coming up.”

“Fuck,” Adaar sighed. “I’m sorry, Hawke. I’m sorry you were left behind. We...we could have tried harder, couldn’t we?” Clearly Hawke had been able to survive the Nightmare somehow. There had been a way to save him, hadn’t there?

“I thought we said we weren’t doing this anymore,” a voice behind Adaar said.

The Inquisitor sat up straight in his chair. “Varric,” he said. His cheeks heated up at having been caught feeling sorry for himself again.

“Don’t worry, Flash. I keep doing the same thing too. Wondering how things could have gone differently,” Varric said, sidling up next to the chair. He’d snuck into the room quietly when he’d heard Adaar talking to Hawke.

“We’re hopeless, aren’t we?” Adaar sighed.

“Completely,” Varric agreed. “But hey. I think Hawke would tell us not to blame ourselves.”

“We’ll have to ask him then, won’t we?” Adaar asked. He snapped the book shut, the sound echoing through the room.

“We will,” Varric replied.  _ If he ever wakes up _ was implied.

The man in question suddenly snorted, then let out a short grunt. Varric and Adaar both fell silent and turned to stare at him. No way...

“Nnng,” Hawke groaned. 

“Shit,” Varric said softly, and winced. “Not again. I thought this was over.”

Adaar stiffened and readied himself - he’d only heard about Hawke’s screaming episodes. Was the mage going to lose control of himself again? Adaar just hoped he wouldn’t have to restrain Hawke - he didn’t think he currently had it in him. He held his breath and waited.

The screaming never came. Instead, Hawke opened his eyes and blinked once. Twice. He coughed and grimaced when he was unable to bring a hand up to his face - his arms were trapped under the blankets.

“...Hawke?” Varric said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. He was leaning against the chair for support.

Hawke looked surprised by the sudden sound and turned his head toward them. He looked at the two of them, clearly confused. Confused, but  _ lucid _ . This was different from the previous times, wasn’t it? Varric sure seemed to think so.

“Hawke, buddy, you’re...you’re  _ awake _ .” Varric was looking at him with tears in his eyes. Adaar reached over and put a hand on Varric’s arm to help steady him.

Hawke blinked again. “I…” His voice was barely a croak. He wrinkled his nose and tried to clear his throat.

Varric pulled away from Adaar so he could stand right up against the bed. 

“It’s all right,” Varric said. “Take your time.” Varric tugged the blankets back and helped Hawke to free his arms - one was still recovering in its splint. Hawke coughed again.

Adaar started to push himself up out of the chair. Hawke could probably use some water, right? Adaar would flag down a servant and get him a drink.

Hawke coughed once more. “I...where am I?” He asked. His voice was rough and dry, barely a whisper. He brought his good hand up to rub at his own face. Hawke winced when he rubbed at the healing scar a little too hard.

“Skyhold,” Varric replied. “You’re safe now, back from the Fade.” The dwarf was smiling, but his eyes were red. This was  _ real _ .

“...ah.” Hawke looked like that hadn’t answered his question at all. He let his hand fall away from his face. Adaar gave pause at Hawke’s reaction. A slight twinge of unease rolled its way up his spine. Water forgotten, he watched the Champion.

Hawke looked to Adaar, then back to Varric. Hawke's brow was furrowed in further confusion, and his eyes were… There was something wrong.  _ Shit _ , Adaar thought.

“And...who are you two then?” Hawke asked, confirming Adaar’s fear.

Hawke’s eyes held no recognition at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Catch me on Tumblr at [minwrathous](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com).


	13. A Friend in Need

_ It’s a strange thing looking at your friend _ , Varric thought,  _ who isn’t really your friend.  _ He paused just outside of Hawke’s room and steadied himself. He could do this. He could go through the door and sit down and talk to the man lying in bed. He could talk to Hawke. Only...was it really Hawke?

It’d been three days since Hawke had woken up from his sleep. Three days since Hawke opened his eyes, looked at Varric, and asked who he was. Of all the things Varric had been expecting, that hadn’t been one of them. 

It wasn’t fair; even after everything they’d gone through to help him make it this far, Hawke wasn’t okay. 

Varric took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He shifted the book he held under one arm and waited until he heard Hawke’s muffled voice give him permission to enter. Releasing his breath and plastering a good-natured smile on his face, Varric went inside.

“Good morning,” Varric said, directing his smile to the room’s occupant. Hawke was sitting propped up in his bed. The remains of his breakfast were laid out on the small table next to him. Sunlight streamed in through the open window across the room. It was very peaceful.

“Good morning,” Hawke replied. “Varric,” he added, as if he needed to prove that he could remember  _ that _ much. Hawke’s voice had recovered, and no longer sounded scraped raw.

“How are you feeling?” Varric asked, moving toward the bed. He sank down into his usual chair and wedged the book in between himself and the chair’s arm. They could talk a little bit before he pulled it out.

“Mm,” Hawke said. “Good enough, I suppose,” he replied. “I had breakfast, and the healer seemed happy I was eating. So, I guess there’s that.” He nodded toward the leftovers. “I found out that I don’t like oats very much.” Hawke sighed.

“You’ll eat them if they have cinnamon and milk mixed in,” Varric replied. He tried his best to sound positive. 

“Do I?” Hawke asked, and looked toward the oats. “Hm.” He frowned and brought his good hand up to scrub at the stubble on his chin. 

“So, Surana’s been in to see you already then?” Varric asked. The spirit healer had been a near constant presence in Hawke’s room over the past three days. Varric knew that the elf was wracking his brain, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

“Yep,” Hawke replied. “He brought my breakfast. Did his hand-waving healing thing and told me he’d be back later today.” Hawke wiggled his own fingers for effect.

Varric chuckled. “Has he…”

“Figured anything out about me?” Hawke supplied. ”Nope. Still nothing.” He gave a defeated sigh. “...sorry.”

Varric held back a frown and did his best to keep up the smile. “That’s all right, Hawke,” he said. “We’ll get it sorted out. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“No, it’s okay,” Hawke said, sounding very much like it  _ wasn’t _ okay. “I know you’re just trying to make things less weird.” He looked down at his lap. “Everybody is trying their best.”

“It’s not working well, is it?” Varric asked softly.

“No, not really,” Hawke replied. He looked up at Varric and gave a self-deprecating smile. Now  _ that _ was almost familiar.

“I figured… It’s a pretty fucked up situation, isn’t it?” Varric mused.

“You’re telling me.” Hawke shook his head and scratched at his bandaged chest. “I don’t understand any of it. I...I know things. Basic things, like you’re a dwarf and this blanket is grey. Those things  _ feel  _ right. Familiar concepts.” He gestured with his hand. 

“But you tell me my name is Garrett Hawke, and it doesn’t feel, well, like anything. It’s just a name.” He let his head flop back against the pillow.

Varric nodded. That was the crux of things, wasn’t it? They’d figured out quickly enough that Hawke, mentally, seemed to be in okay shape. He understood things when they spoke - he could reason and answer questions. But when it was a question about  _ him _ \- about Hawke - he just didn’t know the answers. 

His name. His family. His magic. How he’d ended up in the Fade. None of it. He’d looked at Varric like he was crazy when Varric had told him that he was a mage. Hawke knew what a mage was, but he’d had no clue that he  _ was _ one!

Adaar thought it was the same thing that had happened to him, that the Nightmare had stolen Hawke’s memories. But he told Varric that he wasn’t sure. For him, it had just been his immediate memories of the Conclave. For Hawke, it was  _ everything _ . Adaar said Hawke’s situation felt different, somehow.

But at least Adaar was offerening a partial theory! The healers - Surana included - had no other answers. Solas, for once, had no story about  _ being in the Fade _ that would explain anything. And Cole, for some inexplicable reason, was nervous to be around Hawke for any length of time. Regardless of  _ how _ it had happened to Hawke, the results were still the same. In short, the situation was completely fucked.

But Varric had to try to keep up a positive front. For Hawke’s sake.

“I’m sorry, Hawke,” Varric said. “Er. I...I guess I should have asked earlier. But do you...do you want me to call you something else?” Varric balked at the thought, but it was only fair. 

“No,” Hawke quickly replied. “It’s what I have to work with. Who knows. Maybe if you say it enough, something will click.”

“That’s the spirit,” Varric chuckled. A sense of relief washed over him. Good. He hadn’t been sure he’d be able to handle changing something so important. “So, aside from all of that, how is the healing going? I think you’re looking better.” It was true. The wound on the side of Hawke’s head was starting to scar over, and the bandage over his ear had been removed. The top of the ear was gone, but otherwise it looked fine.

“I think it’s going well,” Hawke replied. “Everything itches, but I’m told that means it’s healing.” Hawke grimaced. “Surana thinks I’ll be able to remove the sling from my arm tomorrow.” He gestured with his right hand to where his left arm was held to his bare chest. “My legs...well. I haven’t tried to hobble around the room yet. Maybe in a few more days.” 

“I almost wish I could remember who beat the shit of me,” Hawke continued. “But then I remind myself that’s a bloody stupid wish.”

Varric chuckled at that. He didn’t feel the need to remind Hawke that it had happened in the Fade. 

They’d asked Hawke about that when Adaar had been in the day before. Hawke had gotten confused, and took a moment before he’d answered.  _ Nothing but green. Green and pain _ , Hawke had murmured. He’d gone quiet after that, a pained expression drawn across his pale face.

They hadn’t tried to push the subject after that. 

“What’ve you got there?” Hawke asked, pulling Varric from his thoughts. He was sitting forward again, and had noticed the book Varric had brought.

“Oh, this?” Varric picked the book up. “I brought a book I wanted to share with you.” He turned the book so Hawke could better see it.

“A book? Oh, is it one of yours? You said you were a writer, didn’t you?” Hawke leaned forward to get a better look.

“It is! And I am,” Varric grinned. “I...uh. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember how to read though.”

“ _ The Tale of the Champion _ ,” Hawke said, reading off the cover of the book.

“Well, that answers that.” Varric mused.

“I wasn’t sure if I could, but I saw it and...apparently, I can,” Hawke snorted. “How fucked up is that?” Varric wondered what else the man could remember how to do.

“Fade shit…” Varric shook his head. “I thought I might have to read it for you, but I guess I can just leave it for you…” 

“Why don’t you just read some to me anyway,” Hawke suggested. “I imagine it’s not every day somebody gets a private reading with the famous author.”

“All right, if you insist,” Varric replied with a little smile. He set the book on his lap and opened it. “You’re not wrong. I don’t do readings very often, if at all. And maybe it’s better liket his. I’ll be here to answer any questions you have. I...may have taken some liberties.” 

“Questions? About your story?” Hawke looked at him curiously.

“About  _ your _ story,” Varric said. He looked back at Hawke. “This one’s about you, Hawke. You’re the Champion.”

“What? Seriously?” Hawke blinked. 

Varric knew that they’d asked Hawke if he recognized the ‘Champion of Kirkwall’ when they’d first started probing his memory. Everything had been so confusing then. It was no wonder that the title didn’t stick with Hawke.

“Mmhmm,” Varric nodded. He opened the cover of the book and smoothed the pages down.

“So, I was important enough to have a book written about me?” Hawke asked weakly.

“And then some,” Varric replied, thinking of exactly how many people had heard of the Champion. He sure hoped this wasn’t going to overwhelm the poor man. Maybe...maybe this hadn’t been a good idea.

“Well, I...I suppose  _ I _ should know what I’m known for then,” Hawke said.

“Let’s get reading then,” Varric gave him an encouraging smile, then looked down at his book. Varric took a breath, then began to read.

The words and the memories they brought forth were all familiar to Varric. It was hard to think about how foreign they were to Hawke himself. 

Varric got through the Hawke family’s flight from Lothering. Meeting Aveline. Losing Bethany. Varric could tell that Hawke had questions that he seemed to be biting back. It wasn’t until the arrival of the dragon that Hawke interrupted him. 

“You’re shitting me,” Hawke said. “A  _ dragon _ ? So, this is one of the liberties you took, right?”

“Surprisingly, no,” Varric chuckled.

Hawke stared at him in awe. Varric grinned back at him.

“Wait until we get to the-“ 

There was a series of sharp knocks at the door, and Varric turned his head to look. Before he could even call out for them to enter, the door opened. A harried-looking messenger stood in the doorway.

“Apologies, Messeres,” she said, and gave a quick bow. “But the Inquisitor has called an urgent meeting. He requests your presence, Messere Tethras.”

“Me?” Varric repeated. He shut his book and started to stand. He wasn’t used to being included in Adaar’s meetings.

“Yes,” the messenger replied. “In the War Room, as soon as you can get there. If you’ll excuse me, I have more people to gather.” She gave a bow and took off before Varric could even respond.

“Is this normal?” Hawke asked curiously.

“No,” Varric replied. “Something’s up. They’re not usually that short with people.” He frowned. “I should probably hustle my dwarven ass over to the War Room.”

“Of course,” Hawke nodded. “We’ll continue our story time later though, yes?” He was eyeing the book expectantly.

Varric hesitated. The messenger’s mood had him rattled. He had a feeling he might not be able to read to Hawke for a little while. “Here,” he said, and offered Hawke the book. “Why don’t you go ahead and start reading for yourself? You can make a list of questions you might have for next time.”

Hawke reached out with his good hand and took the book from him. “Thank you,” he said, and set it down on his lap. “I’ll see if somebody can get me a quill and paper. I feel like I’m going to have a lot of them…”

“Shit. I’d grab you something, Hawke, but I…”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it. You should get going; I don’t want you to be late because of me.” Hawke offered Varric a half-smile that was hauntingly familiar. He was still in there, wasn’t he?

“Thanks,” Varric said, and shook off his distraction. “I’ll drop by as soon as I can.” He backed away from the bed. 

“Sure. Good luck with whatever’s going on, Varric,” Hawke said with a little wave.

“Later, Hawke.” Varric waved back and retreated from the room.

Varric carefully shut the door behind him and hurried down the hall. Had it been a good idea to leave Hawke alone with the book? Varric wasn’t sure. It seemed like such an easy way to share Hawke’s story with him, but it wasn’t  _ exactly _ the truth. He really had taken some artistic liberties to spice it up a bit. He’d also omitted some of the more sensitive details.

But it was easier than sitting there and having to explain just how shitty Hawke’s life had been at times. True, the story was inspirational at its core, but it had been  _ hard _ for the man to live it. There had been so much loss. So much pain. Yes, there had been happiness and love along the way, but those were just as hard to describe.

How did you explain someone’s life to them?

For now, Varric would let the book do his work. He’d just have to worry about the details later. Maybe he could put it all off until Fenris arrived. They’d received word recently that the elf had gotten Varric’s letter - he was on his way back. Fenris had experience with this sort of thing, right? Having him there would be a big help.

But Fenris wasn’t there yet, and hell, he didn’t know about the memory problem. Varric had sent out another message, but could only hope that they would reach the elf. There was no reliable way to inform him while he was traveling. All Fenris knew was that his lover was alive and injured.

And of course, Varric hadn’t yet gotten around to explaining any of the Fenris situation to Hawke. Unsure of how to approach it, he’d been putting it off. But time was running short; Fenris would eventually be arriving, and something told Varric he needed to do a lot of prep work before then. But how to break that to Hawke? 

_ Hey, buddy, this prickly elven warrior from the storybook? Hawke, you’re completely smitten with him, he’s arriving soon, and oh yeah, he may or may not be your husband… _

Varric could feel a headache coming on.

One thing at at time, Tethras. He’d just have to handle it all after this meeting with Adaar. And honestly, things couldn’t get much worse, could they?

Upon arriving at the War Room, Varric knew he shouldn’t have even  _ thought  _ something like that. He could tell from the look on Adaar’s face that something big was going to happen.

It was finally time to face him, wasn’t it? Corypheus.

Hawke would just have to wait a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time! This fic actually started as a prompt from the FenHawkeArchive on Tumblr, back when they were more active and did Fic Starter Fridays. The original prompt was 'Amnesia':
> 
> _"What if Hawke somehow was stripped of memories? (Because of Danarius or otherwise.) There are fics that describe what Hawke would do if Fenris forgot everything. But what would Fenris do if it were Hawke who forgets their relationship?"_
> 
> I started it as a short prompt fill, but then kept fiddling with it and asking myself more and more questions (But what really happened to him? How are they going to fix it?). Finally, I decided I'd just have to try writing something longer. So...here we are. I'll be updating the tags soon!
> 
> As always, I'll be hanging around on [my Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com)!


	14. Waiting (Fenris)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! The next three chapters are going to be a little different than usual. They're a little shorter, and they will sort of piggyback off of one another to bridge this span of time in the story.
> 
> To make up for their length, I'll be updating with less of a break between posting dates for the chapters.

Fenris was getting tired of waiting. He clutched the mug of ale in front of him and lifted it up to take a deep drink. He wasn’t able to repress a slight wrinkle of his nose at the taste of it. He’d much prefer a glass of wine, but the tavern he was stuck in wasn’t the sort of place to serve wine.

At least they were willing to serve a tired-looking elf. He even had a small fireside table all to himself. It was early in the afternoon, so of course, so it wasn’t very busy. They probably didn’t want to turn away the business. He grudgingly took another drink and looked around.

Still, Fenris would rather be on the road.

Fenris had made it to Jader the night before. He would have preferred to keep going - he was close to Skyhold now. _So close!_ But he needed to re-supply, and his horse needed to be re-shod before he took to the mountain roads that would lead him to the Inquisition’s stronghold.

The blacksmith had tried to turn him away at first, insisting that he had much more important work to be done that day. Fenris had been forced to play the ‘working with the Inquisition’ card, and even then the blacksmith didn’t believe it until Fenris pulled out one of the letters that bore the Inquisitor’s seal.

Fenris’s horse would get new shoes, but he was sure that blacksmith would draw the process out as long as he could get away with. And so, Fenris waited.

He felt like he had been on the road for months, though really it had only been a few weeks. Fenris had taken a less-traveled route out of the Hissing Wastes. It had been less safe than the Inquisition’s recommended route, but he’d made better time.

Stitches had been against the idea, but Dalish had supported his decision. Well, that is, as long as Fenris took an extra day to outfit himself for the journey. Fenris had agreed, much to his own displeasure. In the end, though, it had been the right call. Fenris would have admit that to Dalish when he saw her again, and he also knew he’d have to bear her self-satisfied smirk.

Fenris’s chosen route also meant the proper lines of communication with Skyhold were non-existent. He’d sent a bird out before he’d left the Chargers, and one while passing through Val Royeaux. He planned on sending one out once he was ready to leave Jader.

There was something strange in the air though. The Inquisition troops stationed in the city seemed to be on edge. Perhaps he’d ask one about it when he went to send his message.

Fenris also considered sending a message back to the companions he’d left behind, but quickly decided against it. They had probably finished up in the Hissing Wastes, and were on the move again. They’d be making their own way back to Skyhold soon, albeit via a slower and more meandering route.

Skyhold. 

What would it look like to him this time around?

He’d once hated it. Loathed the very stones it was built upon. He’d very nearly been broken, and in his grief, he’d wandered across those stones for a time, utterly lost. His hatred had faded then, and Fenris had been too numb to think much about Skyhold when he’d left it.

Fenris drained the last of his ale and set the mug down on the table. He left a coin next to it and made his way to the door. He was tired of waiting here; he would see to his supplies, then he would go glower at the blacksmith until his horse was ready.

As he left the tavern, he glanced up at the sky. Was it just him, or did it seem a tinge more green than it should? And angry. Something about it felt...angry. Feh. He shook his head and looked forward instead. He didn’t have time to worry about the sky.

No. He had somewhere he needed to be.

This time, Fenris thought that Skyhold would look like a castle to him. An impressive castle, yes. But just stone and mortar, a big pile of it built high on a mountaintop. Skyhold was just a place now.

A destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! Catch me on [my Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com) if you need me.


	15. Waiting (Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said it would be up a little sooner than usual...

Hawke made a face. He turned to the next page and let out a soft noise of disbelief. What _was_ this book? How was this supposed to be somebody’s life? And not just somebody’s life, but _his_ life. Varric had told that he’d edited things to make it better for readers, but he hadn’t explained what ‘better’ meant.

The Darkspawn at the beginning of things was supposed to be true. The dead sister. The dragon. All of those things were true. So...that also meant that Hawke had fought all these other things? He had so many questions! Varric had left him with this book and a promise that he’d return with answers. But now Varric…

Varric wasn’t here. He’d left nearly two day ago, off to fight some evil being that nobody had _properly_ explained to Hawke. All Hawke knew was that things had gotten tense around his little part of Skyhold. His only regular visitor now was the healer, Surana, and he seemed to be on edge. Nervous about something he didn’t want to discuss in detail. It was just more frustration for Hawke, a new layer of _not knowing._

So, he waited.

Varric was gone, off to save the world with Cal, apparently. Cal Adaar, _Inquisitor_. Hawke grunted in displeasure and scratched at his chest. Well, if the friendly guy with horns could be the chosen of Andraste, then maybe Hawke could believe that he was the Champion of some city across the sea.

“Champion. Still haven’t explained that one,” he complained.

And now, of course, he was talking to the book.

“Rubbish,” he grumbled, and kept reading.

It was hard learning about your own life through the eyes of an unreliable narrator. Varric was a good writer, yes, but some things seemed glossed over. Left without detail on purpose. Book-Hawke, as Hawke liked to think of him, did a lot of things that were beyond his understanding.

Hawke reached over to the bedside table and picked up his quill. He gave it a quick dip into the ink pot before carefully marking a sentence describing a cave they’d come across on a mission. Hawke scribbled in the margin next to it.

_How many caves Wounded Coast? Bad things all same cave?_

Hawke set the quill down again and kept reading. Varric had said he’d answer questions, but Hawke already had too many to just keep in his head. He hoped the dwarf didn’t mind all of the notes he was scribbling in the book. But then again...it was sort of Hawke’s book too, wasn’t it?

He came to a name on the next page and was about to underline it when he paused for a moment. “Hadriana,” he said, trying it out loud. Weird. He underlined it, then continued with his reading. Hawke had started marking names as they came up, just in case they were important later on. Some of them turned out to be Book-Hawke’s (and his) family and friends. Carver. Leandra. Gamlen. Aveline. Varric (already familiar, but he still got a mark). Isabela. Anders. Merrill. And Fenris.

He’d been noticing that name more and more often.

Fenris was one of Book-Hawke’s core group of friends. A warrior who’d escaped slavery. An elf who lived in an abandoned mansion. A man who had an understandable distrust of magic. How, then, was this Fenris shaping out to be one of Book-Hawke’s closest friends? And there was some sort of subtext peppered throughout that almost made Hawke wonder if there wasn’t something more going on. But...that was how the entire story was to him.

Hawke tapped the quill thoughtfully as he continued his reading. The room was peaceful, quiet but for the low buzz of Skyhold’s nighttime activity filtering in through the open window. The breeze was chilly, but Hawke appreciated the fresh air; he hated when it got too stuffy. 

“Wait, _what_?” Hawke’s exclamation broke the quiet of the room. Book-Hawke had made it through the messy affair in the caves, and upon returning home had found the missing Fenris waiting for him. And then…

A kiss.

Hawke leaned forward a little and read with a newfound intensity. Book-Hawke and Fenris had kissed, and then spent the night together. Everything was vague enough that it seemed tame, but considering it was about _him_ , it was probably too much personal detail. He stared at the words, eyes wide.

Well, apparently Hawke liked men. Huh. He supposed that explained why he’d often found his eyes lingering on the healer for a little too long. He blinked at the text in front of him.

Hawke liked men. And his friend Fenris, apparently. Did this mean they were more than friends?

...would it be weird to mark this part of the book?

Hawke decided he didn’t care. He dipped his quill, then scratched a few exclamation points in the margin, along with an arrow to the passage’s start. If Varric could write about this, then he could deal with Hawke’s reaction to reading it. 

Satisfied, he set the quill down and picked up where he’d left off reading. He was interested in seeing how this newfound romance would progress. As he read, though, Hawke began to grow confused. Wait. Something had gone wrong. Book-Hawke and Fenris _weren’t_ together? That didn’t seem right! Book-Hawke, what had happened?? 

Hawke let out a growl and stopped himself from tossing the book away. He should have just waited for Varric to read this to him. Nothing made sense. In a moment of frustration, he flipped through the book, turning over pages upon pages of his own lost moments. Fuck it. He’d stopped near the very end of the story. 

There was something about a war. Templars and Mages. And the Champion. Always the fucking Champion.

_We vanished into the hills, and circumstance eventually forced us all to leave the Champion’s side._

_Well… all of us except for Fenris_

Hawke paused. “Wait,” he said, voice soft. They got back together? And then stayed that way? Hawke touched the page, his finger tracing over the ink of Fenris’s name. They weren’t together right now, that was for sure. How had they reconciled? They were in love, right? And didn’t that mean that _he_ was supposed to be in love? 

“Shit,” he muttered. “Shouldn’t have skipped ahead like this. Sorry, Book-Hawke.” He sighed and dropped his finger to trace over the last line of the book. 

_A new legend had been born_.

“Some legend,” he said, and shut the book. That was enough reading for now. He had a lot to think about.

Hawke set the book aside and pushed the blanket from his lap. He carefully sat up and swung his stiff legs to the side of the bed. He winced as his arm briefly twinged in pain from twisting it too much.

“Easy now,” he said, and scooted forward. He bit back a grunt of pain as he stood up. His ankles were healed, but they weren’t happy about taking all of his weight. Hawke wobbled for a moment, then found his balance. He exhaled and hobbled over toward the window.

A little more fresh air would help things.

Hawke managed to reach the window without falling over. He leaned heavily against the frame, careful not to put too much pressure on his injured arm. “There we go,” he said to himself, and looked out over the lantern-lit courtyard. He closed his eyes and breathed in the brisk mountain air, then let it out in one long sigh.

Things would get better. Varric would get back, and he would do a better job of explaining things to him. Maybe there would be some sort of minor miracle and Hawke would magically remember everything once it was laid out in front of him. Yes. That sounded right.

He opened his eyes and looked up to the stars just in time to see the sky split itself open in a flash of sickly green.

A deep feeling of dread washed over him.

_Green. Run. Green. Pain. Green. Fight. Green._

Hawke’s eyes rolled back into his head and he felt himself slipping away. _It’s all so green. Everything is wrong._

In the not-so-distant ruins of an old temple, the Herald of Andraste fought a Blighted Magister.

In Skyhold, the former Champion of Kirkwall crumpled to the floor of his room, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more 'Waiting' chapter after this.
> 
> You can always find me on [my Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com).


	16. Waiting (Varric)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the 'Waiting' chapters. (Though this one did end up being a little longer)

They’d done it. They’d fucking _done_ it. It was two days later, and Varric could hardly believe it: Corypheus was defeated, the Breach was closed, and they’d all lived to see another day. And oh yeah, they’d saved the world.

Well, most of the credit went to Adaar. But Adaar would be the first one to tell you that it was thanks to his friends and allies. Varric, being one of those friends, was just fine with sharing the victory. It felt good to return to Skyhold and find the place buzzing with positive energy. Things had finally gone right for once.

Time got blurry for Varric after walking through Skyhold’s gates. Nearly all of the Keep’s population was out to greet them. There was cheering. Crying. Some kissing too. All Varric wanted was a bath and a good night’s sleep. Victory was nice and all, but the strain of the past few days was catching up to him. Traveling to and from Haven again in such a short time had been hard on them all. And that wasn’t even counting the fight they’d had in the middle of the trips!

Once he saw a good opportunity, he took a chance and slipped away from the crowd. As much as Varric appreciated all the pats on the back, he needed to take care of himself. He did notice that Adaar had somehow managed to beat him to it, and had disappeared off to his private quarters already. _Good for him_ , Varric thought. 

Varric went to bed early that night. As he started to drift off to sleep, he felt a brief pang of guilt for not stopping to check on Hawke. It couldn’t be helped now; he’d see him in the morning.

True to his word, Varric ate his breakfast and then made his way to Hawke’s room first thing the next morning. He felt like a new dwarf after getting a good night’s sleep. He hummed a little to himself as he knocked on the door  and waited for the muffled response to enter.

“Good morning,” Varric said.

“You’re back!” Hawke replied. He was sitting up in bed, a tray across his lap. His breakfast lay half-eaten in front of him, and he was looking at Varric with relief written across his face. Varric was glad he didn’t seem annoyed by his absence the day before.

“I’m back,” Varric agreed. He strode into the room and pulled up his usual chair.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” Hawke said. “I heard there was some big battle.”

“It was pretty big all right,” Varric nodded. “It had a dragon, an evil monologue, and everything else to make it all impressive. But don’t worry. The good guys won in the end. That’s us, by the way.” 

“Sounds like you have a lot of good stuff for your new book,” Hawke replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I’ve started outlining,” Varric chuckled. He glanced over to Hawke and noticed that the man’s cheek was sporting a large bruise. That hadn’t been there before, had it? Hawke was supposed to be healing. 

“Ah. Wondering about this, are you?” Hawke asked, immediately picking up on where Varric was staring. He gestured to his own face. “Surana helped heal it a bit. He said it should finish fading soon. I hope it doesn’t ruin my looks.”

“What happened?” Varric asked.

“Tried looking out the window the day before yesterday. Guess I wasn’t ready for it. I passed out and hit my head on the way down.” Hawke winced as he explained. “Somebody passing by must’ve heard me. I woke up to one of the healer’s apprentices working on my head.”

“Shit,” Varric said. “They’re sure you’re all right?”

“Mm. Yeah, I think so,” Hawke replied. “It aches, but... Well. I’ve been worse.” He smiled grimly.

“That’s a relief,” Varric said. Maker’s balls, he couldn’t leave Hawke on his own for even a few days, could he? The man was already back to over-exerting himself.

“I think I’ll hold off on looking out the window for a little longer,” Hawke murmured. 

“Or wait and ask for help,” Varric pointed out. “Do you want me to pull the chair over there for you? We can set you up in it.”

“Maybe a little later. I think I’d rather just...talk for a little while.”

“Talk?” There was something to Hawke’s tone that made Varric a little nervous. “Well, you’re just in luck. I’m a talker. What’s on your mind, Hawke?”

Hawke nodded and sat up. He moved his plate of leftovers to the bedside table and pulled over a book instead. He set it on the tray of front of him and flipped it open. Varric immediately recognized the familiar novel.

_Shit_ , Varric tried not to grimace. Why had he thought it was a good idea to give Hawke his book? He wanted to kick himself for leaving the man with _Tale of the Champion_ and zero context for things.

“So,” Hawke said. “I have some questions.” 

Varric leaned in to try to get some idea of where in the book Hawke had stopped. He raised an eyebrow. Were those...notes? Shit. Hawke really had been working on this book, hadn’t he? Wait… had he been marking up one of the first editions?

Varric shook his head and focused instead on Hawke. “Well, hopefully I have some answers,” he replied.

“I hope so,” Hawke replied. “So. First. Did I _know_ you were writing a book about me?”

“Yes,” Varric replied. “Though, you didn’t take me seriously when I first told you I was writing everything down.” 

“But I was okay with it?” Hawke raised an eyebrow.

Varric shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t think either of us thought it would get as popular as it did. It was a pleasant surprise. Well, for me, anyway.” He chuckled and sat back in his chair. “You were busy enough worrying about all the attention you were getting in Kirkwall.” 

“A lot seemed to be happening in Kirkwall,” Hawke mused. He tapped his finger on the book. “ _Did_ all of this really happen? You really didn’t make anything up?”

“I didn’t add anything to it. Didn’t have to. Your life got pretty weird on its own, Hawke,” Varric replied. “If anything, some things got left out.”

Hawke looked mildly troubled by that statement. “So...that’s why some things are vague too.”

“You noticed, huh?”

“Yes,” Hawke replied. He tapped on the book again. “I...made some notes. Things that didn’t make sense, or seemed to be important, but never got expanded on.”

Varric gave a low whistle. “Damn, Hawke. You turned into a scholar on me.” Hawke had always been a clever man, but he hadn’t been what you’d call the ‘academic’ type. Well, not counting that time he’d been teaching Fenris to read. Hawke had buckled down and hit the books then. So, Varric supposed it had always been in him.

Fenris… Shit. Varric wondered exactly how far into the book Hawke had gotten. He glanced at Hawke’s face and found a clouded look of displeasure on it. “Everything okay?” Varric asked.

“No, not really,” Hawke replied.

“What’s on your mind?” Varric tried to keep his voice light, but he was feeling decidedly less jovial. It was becoming clear that Hawke was in _a mood_. Varric thought it made sense though. Hawke had been taking the whole ‘complete amnesia’ thing a little too well; it was understandable that he’d have some issues.

“There are a lot of things on my mind,” Hawke replied. “But not the right things. I...you tell me some things about who I’m supposed to be. But nobody can tell me why I can’t remember! I can barely stand up on my own and everything is sore, but I nobody wants to talk about what happened to me.”

“Hawke…” Varric leaned forward and made a placating gesture with his hands.

“No. Don’t _Hawke_ me,” Hawke replied. “You up and left me for days and to fight some big evil monster, and I don’t know why _you_ had to do it. Didn’t know if you’d be back either! And then you come back in here and pretend like it never happened.” Hawke clenched a fist and took a steadying breath.

“I’m...I’m sorry, Hawke,” Varric said. His mouth was suddenly dry and his stomach felt like it was doing cartwheels. “I just didn’t want to overwhelm you.” Both the Inquisitor and Varric himself had decided not to overload Hawke with information. They’d assumed he’d needed more time to recover before he could handle it all. But they’d miscalcuated, hadn’t they? They hadn’t considered just how much time Hawke would lie in bed thinking about things, and how frustrated it would make him.

“I feel overwhelmed anyway, so maybe you should have just asked me what I thought I could handle.” Hawke shut the book and tossed it back onto the table. He let out a frustrated sigh and moved the tray from his lap as well.

Varric opened his mouth, but stopped himself before he said Hawke’s name again. What could he even say to the man? Hawke wasn’t wrong; they hadn’t treated him like he was able to make his own decisions. 

“You’re right,” Varric agreed. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at his ponytail. “You’re right, Hawke. It’s...it’s been hard. Trying to figure out what I should be doing. How much I should be telling you.” Varric felt tired again. Exhausted down to his very bones.

“I know,” Hawke said, his voice soft, and sounding just as tired as Varric felt. “I think I changed my mind; I’m done talking for now.”. Hawke sighed and pulled the covers up over himself. He rolled onto his side, turning his back to Varric.

“All right,” Varric said, frowning. “I’ll let you get some more rest. But I...before I go, I just want to say that I’m sorry, Hawke. I got caught up in trying to keep you comfortable that I didn’t consider how you felt about any of it.” He stood and straightened his shirt out. “I’m going to try and do better, whenever you want me back.”

Hawke was silent for a moment, his back barely moving as he breathed and considered it. “All right,” he said. And that was that. Varric took it as his cue to leave.

“Take care, Hawke. I’ll...see you later.” 

“Wait.”

Varric stopped in his tracks; he hadn’t been expecting a response.

“Hawke?”

There was a beat of silence, and Varric looked over his shoulder. 

“One thing. I skipped to the end of the story,” Hawke said. “...Fenris?”

Hawke had read ahead to the end of his own story? Varric rolled his eyes. _Of course_ he had. And of course he’d focused on Fenris. It was almost comforting that that part of Hawke seemed to be the same.

“That’s...a complicated story,” Varric replied. He heard Hawke sigh and had to bite back a defensive response. Instead, Varric said, “The short of it is that he’s on his way back here now. I know he’s eager to see you.” _Or more accurately, it’s the old Hawke he’s eager to see._ Varric chose not to point _that_ out. He’d cross that rickety bridge when he got to it.

“Oh. All right. Good,” Hawke said, sounding slightly flustered. “...thanks, Varric.”

“Sure thing, Hawke,” Varric replied, and held back a groan. Maker’s balls, was Hawke already smitten with a semi-fictional version of the elf? That would be fitting, wouldn’t it? He left Hawke’s room, quietly shutting the door behind him. His good mood from earlier had all but evaporated and he was left feeling drained. _._

“Great job, Tethras,” he muttered to himself as he walked toward the stairs that would take him to the main hall. He had no clue what he should be doing for Hawke. This memory loss bullshit was a complete unknown. Well, at least Fenris was on his way; Varric was holding out hope that the elf would have some idea of how to handle this situation. Fenris had some first-hand experience with it, after all. Varric still didn’t look forward to having to explain everything to him. Though, compared to what they’d gone through the last time Fenris had come to Skyhold… 

Speaking of which, Varric thought he should have heard from Fenris by now. They’d received notice from the Chargers that the elf had gotten the message and was on his way. After that...nothing. He would have to follow up on it soon. It had been on his ‘to do’ list, but bigger issues had sprung up in the meantime - namely, Corypheus.

Varric plodded downstairs and emerged in the main hall. Already, it was buzzing with activity. With the defeat of Corypheus and the final closing of the Breach, Skyhold was getting ready to celebrate. Varric knew they’d be having a party very soon; something ‘smaller’ for the Inquisition member and everybody in the Keep. If Josephine had her way, though, there would an even bigger celebration some time later on. He’d already heard somebody mention it over breakfast.

Varric raised a hand in greeting to one of the scouts, then mustered a charming smile for a passing noble. Even though the Inquisition had won the day, there was so much left to do. Letters to read. Letters to write. Bills to pay. People to bribe. Friends to worry about. 

Varric would see all of it done.

Later.

Right now, the Herald’s Rest was calling his name. He knew it was a little early for a pint, but he felt like he could use it. Everything else - his messages, his troubles, his guilt - could just wait for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always find me on [my Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com).


	17. A Familiar Room

Fenris sat astride his horse, gloved hands clutching tightly to the reins. His breath was white vapor in the cold morning air as he slowly exhaled. His eyes were fixed on the stone keep that rose above the snow-covered peak in the near distance. There it was - Skyhold.

Already there was a steady stream of travelers making their way along the stone road that led up to the keep’s drawbridge. Fenris had pulled away from them and stopped off to the side. He just wanted to look at it now. To watch the people working their way toward it. No doubt they were seeking audience with the Inquisitor in order to offer their congratulations. Fenris had heard the big news while on the road from Jader - Corypheus had been defeated.

Fenris was glad for that. The world was a better place without that foul creature being a part of it. And now that he was dead and gone, Hawke might be able to move on. He could stop blaming himself, stop thinking that he had to fix what wasn’t his responsibility. Hawke…

Fenris gave the reins a light shake and clicked his tongue to urge his horse forward. He was here; he’d made it to Skyhold (and Hawke). Well, almost. But he felt confident that the hard part of the journey was over. Already, he was in a much better state than he had been the last time he’d walked this road. He’d pushed himself hard to get here this time, but he’d also made sure to take care of himself (and the horse).

This last stretch of road was the easiest. Soon, he was crossing over the bridge and joining a small line of fellow travelers for entry. The guardsman who eventually greeted him was unfamiliar, but seemed to be in a jovial mood. After only a quick flash of Fenris’s official letter, the guardsman had signaled him through with a smile and a wave.

Fenris spurred his horse onward, entering the keep proper. He knew the way to the stable, and even recognized the horsemaster from a distance once he arrived. Fenris dismounted and started to gather his belongings from where they were fastened. As he was slinging his sword across his back, he sensed somebody approaching from behind. He turned and found a young qunari woman raising her hand in greeting.

“Need some help there?” she asked. She was dressed in rough-looking work clothes, and from the way she was eyeing his horse, Fenris assumed she was one of the stablehands.

“It would be appreciated,” Fenris replied, and gestured toward the reins. “You will see to her?”

“Yes,” she said, eagerly moving in to greet the horse. “How long are you here for?”

“Indefinitely,” Fenris replied, hoisting his pack over one shoulder.

“We’ll take care of her, Serah...oh! Your name?” She looked at him, her attention momentarily torn away from his horse. Fenris smiled a little at that.

“Fenris,” he replied. “I’m here as a guest of Varric Tethras.” He knew that using Varric’s name was often pretty helpful.

“Right,” she nodded. “And her name?”

“Butterscotch,” Fenris replied with a sigh. _He_ hadn’t been the one to name the horse.

The qunari giggled a little at that and reached in to pet Butterscotch again. “Serah Fenris and Butterscotch. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she’s happy. My name’s Uma, by the way, if you need to find me.”

Fenris nodded and leaned in to scratch Butterscotch once more behind her ear. She whickered softly at him. “Thank you,” he said to them both.

As Uma began to lead the horse away, Fenris had a thought. “Uma,” he said. “Do you know where I can find Varric Tethras?”

“Nope,” she replied, throwing a look back over her shoulder. “I know where his horse is though! Try asking somebody in the castle!”

Right. Fenris snorted and held his pack steady as he walked away from the stables. He would try the main hall first; that was one of Varric’s prefered people-watching spots. If he wasn’t there, then perhaps Fenris would be able to find somebody who knew a better place to look. As he walked through the courtyard, Fenris was amazed by how busy everything felt. People. People everywhere. Laughing. Talking loudly. Bartering with the vendors lining the courtyard walls. And it wasn’t just that there were so many of them, but that they all seemed to be in high spirits.

Fenris supposed he was one of them too, if only for a slightly different reason. True, he was glad for Corypheus’s demise, but he was here at Skyhold for somebody else. Fenris smiled to himself as he climbed the stone stairs that led up to the main hall’s entrance. If he got any strange looks from fellow visitors, he paid them no mind.

In the back of his mind, there was still a feeling of unease that gnawed at him. The mention in Varric’s letter of Hawke being injured weighed on him. Fenris had tried his best to push that worry aside, but now that he was so close to seeing him again… No. He wouldn’t start thinking about now. Not when he was so close. Soon, he would know for himself.

Fenris reached the top of the steps and was funneled into the main hall. The room was lit by the colored sunlight that filtered in through the stained glass windows. Voices echoed off of the high stone walls, and the hall practically buzzed with energy. Fenris cast a glance to the corner Varric liked to frequent and found it occupied by a group of finely dressed merchants. There was no dwarf among them.

Fenris frowned and scanned the rest of the hall. He noticed a few familiar faces from his time spent here, but none of them were Varric. Damn. He should have tried the tavern first. A quick look up toward the Inquisitor’s throne revealted it to be empty as well. Of course, Inquisitor Adaar must be too busy to be sitting in audience now. Hm.

He noticed an attendant lingering next to one of the doorways near the throne’s dais. He recognized the elven man, though his name escaped him. He worked for the steward, and was one of the staff who’d been tasked with keeping an eye on Fenris. Perhaps he might know where to find Varric (and Hawke). It was worth a try; Fenris remembered that the young man had always been kind.

Fenris skirted along one of the walls, moving forward as best he could through the crowd. When he finally reached the doorway, the elf spoke without looking up from the papers he was reading. “Apologies, but this wing is off limits,” he said on cue, sounding bored.

 _Ansel_ , Fenris suddenly remembered. The elf’s name was Ansel. While he had been very kind, he’d also been very bad at pretending he wasn’t actually following Fenris around. Fenris never held it against him.

“I’m not interested in going through here,” Fenris replied. “I was hoping you could help me.”

Ansel looked up in surprise at the sound of Fenris’s voice. There was a momentary pause, then a look of recognition flashed over Ansel’s face. “Oh, Serah Fenris!” he exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting you here!” He straightened up and looked at Fenris expectantly. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Yes. Thank you, Ansel,” Fenris replied. He noted that the other elf preened a little at being remembered. “Varric Tethras - do you know where he is?”

“Not currently, Serah,” the elf replied. “If he isn’t here in the hall currently, he may be in the tavern. Or...more recently, he’s often with the Champion of Kirkwall.”

The Champion of Kirkwall. Fenris felt a flicker of warmth in his chest at the very mention of him.

“And where is he?” Fenris asked, and wondered if maybe he sounded a little _too_ eager. “Where is Hawke?”

“Oh, he doesn’t leave his room,” Ansel replied. “He’s still recovering from his injuries, or so I’ve been told. I haven’t actually _seen_ him, only heard things. But it was a very exciting time when they told us all that he… Oh!” Ansel paled as he realized exactly who he was talking to.

“Apologies, Serah,” he said. “I forgot that he’s...and you…”

“It’s all right,” Fenris said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Fenris’s relationship with Hawke had never been a secret. Why, thanks to Varric’s book (and gossip), it had been common knowledge around Skyhold. “Can you show me to where the Champion is staying?” he asked. If he couldn’t easily find Varric, he might as well find Hawke.

“I’m afraid I can’t leave my post,” Ansel replied. “But it won’t be hard for you to find. The Champion is in his previous quarters, which, as you know, are also _your_ previous quarters.” Ansel grinned at him.

Fenris smiled back and tipped his head in gratitude. Yes, he was very familiar with that room. “Thank you, Ansel,” he said. “I shall let you get back to your post.” He adjusted the pack on his back and turned to head back the way he’d just come.

“Good luck! And welcome back, Serah,” Ansel called cheerfully from behind him.

Fenris lifted a hand to wave to the other man, and made his way back through the hall. Outwardly, Fenris gave off an air of confidence as he skirted around the bulk of the crowd, but inside… Inside, Fenris felt like the jangling of his very nerves was going to shake him apart. His heart was pounding, and suddenly he was questioning his own assumption that he’d even be able to make it to his old room. How? He wasn’t sure if he had feet anymore. Was he still walking?

Somehow, Fenris was. His mind may have been of no use, but his body was able to operate on muscle memory. He was putting one foot in front of the other, and leaving the main hall through one of the servant’s corridors. Each step was taking him closer and and closer to Hawke.

Hawke.

Was he awake now? Ansel had said the Champion was recovering in his room, not that he was still asleep there. Recovering! He was getting better! Fenris had tried not to dwell on Hawke’s condition since receiving Varric’s message. Instead, he’d focused on getting to Skyhold as quickly as possible. He hadn’t given himself time to worry about the state of Hawke. All that mattered was that he was alive - Fenris had clung to that thought and let it fuel him.

Now that he was finally here, though, Fenris had let that little bit of worry dig in. How badly had Hawke been hurt? Fenris climbed a short flight of stairs and entered a new wing. He barely noticed his surrounding as he considered what injuries Hawke could have sustained. He’d been in the Fade for _months_. How had he survived? He hadn’t been possessed, had he? No. Not Hawke. Had it changed him though?

Fenris would just have to wait and see, wouldn’t he? But no matter what state Hawke was in, Fenris would be with him. He rounded a corner and continued down a familiar hall. He was nearly there. He began to count doors as he passed them. Four more. Three. Two more doors. One.

Fenris stopped when he came to it - his old room. Hawke’s room. _Their_ room now. He took a breath and looked intently at the heavy wooden door in front of him. He raised his arm and let his gloved hand rest against the handle as he steadied himself. He was here.

He listened for a moment, ears perking up as he tried to make out any sounds coming from the room. Nothing. Somewhere down the hall, two women were having a conversation he couldn’t quite make out, but there was only silence in the room before him. Well, Varric was probably in the tavern after all. There was no such thing as silence when Varric Tethras and Garrett Hawke were in a room together.

All right.

Fenris let out a soft sigh and turned the door handle. Wait. Should he have knocked?? Too late. He was already pushing the door open... Besides, Hawke had gently teased him out of his habit of always knocking around his estate. Things shouldn’t be any different here.

Fenris stepped into the room and silently looked around. There was light filtering in from the large window, and a breeze ruffled the heavy curtains. He glanced to the fireplace, where the fire that usually crackled there had already gone cold and dark. Fenris shut the door behind him and let his pack slide off his shoulder and down the the floor. His eyes found the bed and took in the pile of blankets. They moved steadily, up and down, as the man under them breathed.

Fenris unbuckled his sword, his gaze not leaving the bed. He reached out to rest the sword on the empty rack that still stood next to the door. He moved forward automatically, his feet carrying him closer and closer to the bed. He wanted to speak, to say something - anything - but the words wouldn’t come. His throat was thick as the tears began to build behind his eyes. He blinked them back as he sidled up next to the bed.

It was him. Hawke. Asleep, and very much real.

Hawke’s head was the only thing not covered by the blankets. His dark hair was spread out over the pile of pillows he rested on. How many times had Fenris run his fingers through that hair? It was much longer than the last time he’d seen it though. There were other things that had changed as well; Fenris could see from his face alone that his lover wasn’t well.

Fenris frowned and bit back his tears again. Some of Hawke’s hair was missing on the right side of his head, as was a chunk of the man’s ear. There was an ugly bruise fading from his forehead. Hawke’s beard was gone, leaving his face looking naked and strange. And he was thin. Maker, had Fenris ever seen him look that thin before? Gaunt was a better word for it. Gaunt and far too pale. Fenris was frozen now, too scared to reach out and just _touch_ him.

What if he hurt him? What if...

Fenris remembered this feeling all too well. He’d sat beside Hawke’s sickbed in the past, too twisted up in his own emotions and his own guilt to more than watch over him. After the battle with the  Arishok, all Fenris had been able to do was linger wordlessly by Hawke’s bed. And wait. No. Not now. He’d clung to hope for too long and traveled too far to let himself hold back now.

Fenris took his gloves off and tossed them to the side, heedless of where they fell. He brought his knee up onto the bed, letting it press down next to Hawke’s sleeping form. Fenris reached in with a bare hand and gently pushed Hawke’s hair back from his forehead. Hawke’s eyelids twitched at that, but Fenris took no notice. He was too busy leaning in.

“Hawke,” he said, finally finding his voice. “Garrett.” The word was softer, and thick with emotion. Fenris was leaning in close now, close enough that he could feel the air stirring as Hawke breathed. The breaths were coming quicker now, not the steady in-out of a man who was asleep. Fenris didn’t notice.

Hawke inhaled and started to stir. His lips opened to form a word just as Fenris pressed his own against them. Nothing mattered now. There was a warm feeling bubbling in Fenris’s chest as he kissed Hawke. His fingers twined through Hawke’s hair, careful not to pull too tight. Fenris wanted to shuck off his armor and crawl under the blankets with Hawke. He wanted to curl on top of the larger man, press as close to him as he could, and just drink him in. He would listen to Hawke’s heart beat, strong and _alive_ , and feel the warmth of his skin again.

But that would have to wait. He’d rushed to get here, and now he had all the time in the world for all of that, and more.

So for now, Fenris closed his eyes and kissed Hawke.

But after a moment, a hand emerged from the nest of blankets and hesitantly touched Fenris’s cheek. Hawke turned his head to the side, and gently broke the kiss. Fenris opened his eyes and looked down, confused.

Hawke’s familiar golden eyes looked back up at him _. Why were they so sad?_ Fenris felt a twinge of worry shoot up his spine. Something was _wrong_.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said. “I’m so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always find me on [my Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com).


	18. Caught By Surprise

Hawke’s day had started off bland and unremarkable. He woke up and began the ritual of staring up at the ceiling while he waited for his late breakfast. Once a servant brought him food, he at least had something to focus on. Surana arrived while he ate, and chatted with him until he was finished. Hawke had wondered if maybe he shouldn’t ask the healer some of his Inquisition-related questions. Surana probably wouldn’t mind answering them, right? But in the end, Hawke had decided against it.

Hawke thought he’d rather try and enjoy his morning. No need to complicate things. He’d told a joke that had made the healer smile in a way that got Hawke’s pulse up. Now that he understood  _ why _ his body responded the way it did, Hawke wondered if maybe he should feel embarrassed. Maybe guilty? Another smile from the healer put that worry to rest. Nope. Hawke was fine for now.

Hawke did have to decency to blush when he realized he was staring at the healer’s ass as the man leaned over to pick up an escaped breakfast spoon. Hawke just prayed that the elf hadn’t noticed. Somehow, he managed to make it through the daily exam without dying of embarrassment, and was a little sad to see Surana go when it was over.

Hawke had liked having the company; now he just had his damned book.

He'd nearly finished reading the Tale of the Champion. He knew that Book-Hawke’s mother had died in his arms. He knew that Book-Hawke had saved a city by killing a very important qunari. He knew that Book-Hawke walked a fine edge, balancing his life as an apostate and his life as a sort of jumped-up noble. It all seemed horribly stressful.

Hawke also knew that Book-Hawke had been a good friend to the people who were closest to him. Well, at least that’s what the book lead him to believe. He also knew that Book-Hawke had been with Fenris when the elf had killed his former master. At some point after that, Book-Hawke and Fenris had gotten back together. At least that had answered  _ that _ question. Sort of.

Hawke had stopped reading with only a few chapters left. Book-Hawke was on his way to the Gallows, and Hawke thought something big was about to happen. There’d been a lot of foreshadowing, and he was curious what it was leading up to. Maybe he would try and finish that today. Yes. He would finish the book, then go over his notes and come up with a plan for trying to talk with Varric about it all again.

Varric...

It had been two days since their unpleasant falling out, and the dwarf had made himself scarce. Though honestly, that was mostly on Hawke, seeing as he’d taken to feigning sleep when Varric tried showing up for a visit. Whenever he would hear the door begin to rattle open, Hawke would drop what he was doing and fall back under his blankets.

Varric had to know what Hawke was doing; it wasn’t like Hawke was particularly good at being subtle about it. Once, he’d almost upturned an inkwell in his haste to ‘sleep’. But...Varric played along. He would linger by the bed, sigh a bit, and then retreat from the room. The dwarf was giving him his space, though Hawke wasn’t sure he even wanted it now.

Why  _ was _ he still doing it? Hawke’s annoyance and hurt at being left in the dark were still there, but the initial flare of anger had faded. He knew he would eventually accept Varric’s apology, but he kept putting it off. It was simpler to hide. It was much easier to pull a blanket up over himself than to look at Varric, and read the sadness on the dwarf’s face. He hated the disappointment that Varric tried to hide, but Hawke could still see.

So, really, it wasn’t all about Hawke’s hurt feelings. It was also about expectations. Disappointment, and hope. Each time Varric visited, Hawke could see that glint of hope in his eyes. It was Varric’s hope that maybe this time, Hawke’s memories would have magically returned. Maybe this time,  _ his _ Hawke would be waiting for him.

But he never was.

It was always just him. Hawke, but not  _ Hawke _ . 

Hawke sighed and stared up at the ceiling. Maybe he’d grab the book again and try to read, but for now, the ceiling was enough.

His eyes weren’t focused on anything in particular. He already knew the patterns above him. He was familiar with the cracks and textures of the individual stones. The whirls in the wood of the beam above his bed were committed to his memory. When a spider had moved into the corner, he’d noticed.

He might not be familiar with being Garrett Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, but he knew his ceiling.

Hawke snapped back into focus when he heard the telltale rattle of somebody grasping the door handle. Varric! How long had he been staring up the ceiling anyway? No matter! For a brief moment, he considered _ not  _ hiding from Varric. Maybe he should just swallow his pride, apologize, and deal with Varric’s sad eyes for a little while.

All of those thoughts fled when the door began to creak open. Hawke burrowed down into the blankets and closed his eyes. At least he hadn’t needed to snap the book shut this time! He willed himself to relax and let his breathing even out. Just a few minutes of this, then Varric would give up again and he could go back to being alone. And miserable.

But something was different this time. Hawke thought Varric’s steps sounded a little different. Whoever it was shut the door behind them and let something drop to the floor. Was it Surana again? Or somebody else? Well, he wouldn’t embarrass himself by cracking an eye open and being caught in the act; he’d just have to be asleep for whoever the visitor was. There was a thump as something heavy was set down, and Hawke started to burn with curiosity.

Hawke waited and tried to keep his breathing even. It was hard, what with some stranger staring at him. And they were staring at him, weren’t they? What else could they be doing? His heart beat a little faster as they moved closer, their footsteps light on the stone floor. Suddenly he felt the mattress sink to the side, and that nearly undid him. What?! Were they climbing into bed with him?

A hand, warm and calloused, moved over his forehead and Hawke twitched. It felt...good. He couldn’t remember anybody touching him like that - gently and oh-so-carefully. A thought began to pull itself together in his mind, the pieces slowly connecting. This was…

“Hawke,” a male voice said. Oh, Maker, that  _ voice. _ “Garrett.”

The thought was flung apart before it could fully form and Hawke was struck dumb. He knew that he could feel this man’s breath mingling with his own, and that his heart was pounding out of his chest. But all Hawke could do was think about how he wanted to hear that voice again. He opened his mouth to speak, though he had no clue what he would say. Before he could even get one word out, Hawke was being kissed.

If the voice had previously scattered Hawke’s thoughts, then the kiss completely pulverized their remains. He stiffened for a split-second, but the soft touch of that hand in his hair made him relax again. It felt...nice. So nice.  _ This stranger is pretty good at kissing _ , Hawke thought dumbly. It briefly crossed his mind that he had no basis for comparison. But so what? It was an amazing first kiss. Besides, it definitely wasn’t this guy’s first kiss - he knew what  _ he _ was doing.

Hawke slowly came back to himself then. Wait. He squirmed a bit and pulled his good arm out from under the blankets. This wasn’t right. This man was kissing him like it should mean something more, and that wasn’t fair to either of them. Hawke put his hand gently on the strangers cheek and opened his eyes. He was met by the blurry visage of his mystery kisser. As he gently nudged the man’s face away, it came into sharper focus.

_ Fuck.  _

Dark brows furrowed over sharp green eyes. Elegant elven ears that were quivering ever so slightly as the man stared at him. Snowy white hair held back in a braid. Branded lines the same white as his hair cut through brown skin. Hawke knew those lines continued down over the rest of the man’s body, just like he knew they were made of lyrium. 

Hawke recognized the elf.  _ Fenris _ . This was Fenris.

...Varric’s description hadn’t done him justice.

And the way he was looking at Hawke made Hawke’s stomach do somersaults. Maker, how was he supposed to function when he was being looked at like that? His stomach immediately plummeted. No, that look of longing and worry and pure love wasn’t for  _ him _ \- it was for Hawke. The other one. 

“I’m sorry,” Hawke blurted out. “I’m so sorry.” 

It took Fenris a moment to process. A look of confusion settled onto Fenris’s face, his brows furrowing further. “Hawke? What is it?” He slowly began to untangle his fingers from Hawke’s hair. He also sank down so he was sitting on the bed next to Hawke, rather than kneeling over him.

“I...uh…” Hawke’s mouth was suddenly too dry.

“What’s wrong?” Fenris slid his hand from Hawke’s hair down to feel at his forehead. The elf’s skin was cool against Hawke’s, and it seemed like there was a strange energy humming between them. It felt almost familiar.

“Fuck,” Hawke said, because he knew he needed to say  _ something _ . Fenris raised an eyebrow and Hawke winced. He was really fucking this up already, wasn’t he? And here, he’d been looking forward to meeting Fenris.

The scenario in his head had been much different though. For one thing, Hawke hadn’t been expecting that he’d end up being the one to tell Fenris he didn’t remember him. That had been Varric’s job! And for another, part of Hawke had still been futilely clinging to the hope that true love would magically jog his memory. Or something.

“I’m…” Hawke began, and had to pause to clear his throat. “I’m afraid that I’m not well,” he said. Fenris was staring at him like he’d grown a second head, and Hawke thought for a moment how stupid he must sound. Of course he wasn’t well! He was lying in his own sickbed with a bandaged arm, a bruised head, and half an ear missing.

“Varric’s letter said as much,” Fenris began. His fingers trailed over Hawke’s temple, down to his cheek. “He said that you were unconscious, near death. I am pleased to see otherwise.” His voice was warm, and he was touching Hawke so gently. Hawke’s stomach turned over.

So, Varric hadn’t written to Fenris about the memory loss? Or perhaps Fenris hadn’t gotten any messages beyond the first one that had announced Hawke’s return to the living. In any case, now it was all up to Hawke. Maker, he didn’t want this responsibility.

“Ah,” Hawke said, his voice weak. “Well. Yes. I’m alive. And awake, and rather injured still. But I’m afraid that. That is. I’m afraid that I don’t remember anything.” He blurted the last of it out, glad to just get the words out. There. He’d admitted it.

“About being rescued?” Fenris asked. “Or...your time trapped in the Fade?” He was looking at Hawke in concern.

“No,” Hawke replied, eyes darting away to look back up at the ceiling. “Anything. I don’t remember my life. Who I was. I...I’m afraid I don’t remember you either.” Hawke couldn’t bear to look over at him, so he heard rather than saw that second when Fenris realized what he was saying. 

Fenris made a noise in the back of his throat, half a gasp, half a groan. He pulled his hand away from Hawke’s face like the contact had suddenly burned him. “What?” he hissed. “Hawke, if this is some sort of sick joke.” Fenris’s voice was shaky, and Hawke knew the elf would prefer a cruel prank to this reality.

“It’s not,” Hawke replied, his voice soft. He tilted his head and focused on Fenris again. The other man was looking back at him, eyes wide. His lips trembled as he tried to keep some unknown emotion in check. “I’m sorry,” Hawke said. “I’m just...so sorry.”

“So you know nothing. You don’t know who I am?” Fenris asked. He sounded weak.  _ Lost. _ His hand hovered above Hawke, his fingers flexing like he was trying to hold himself back from reaching out again. Hawke felt a pang of guilt - he’d done this. He’d hurt him.

“No,” Hawke said. “Well. Yes. I…” Hawke lifted his good hand and carefully reached out for Fenris’s. The elf twitched like he was going to yank his hand back again, but relented. Hawke grasped Fenris’s hand lightly and tried to give him a reassuring squeeze. “When I woke up, I didn’t know anything. Nobody knows why. But I’ve been talking to Varric, trying to learn about myself,” he explained. “I’ve been reading his book too; that’s how I know who you are, Fenris.”

Fenris’s eyes had gone vacant for a moment as he mentally wrestled with something. He stared as Hawke spoke, his hand barely clutching back at Hawke’s. Fenris came back into focus when Hawke said his name. “You’ve learned about me from  _ Varric’s book _ ?” he asked, sounding almost horrified.

“Yes?” Hawke replied. “I mean, it’s not the...the most accurate thing, and I think I have twice as many questions as answers. But it’s something, right?” He tried to smile at Fenris.

_ “Not the most accurate _ ,” Fenris muttered to himself. “I  _ told _ you not to give him details about us.”

“You did?” Hawke asked.

Fenris blinked, and for a brief second, he looked lost again. He’d meant something else by the statement, hadn’t he? It had been a chastisement for a Hawke that knew he’d done wrong. Fenris realized his mistake, and Hawke simply gave him a sad smile.

“I did,” Fenris said, and gently extracted his hand from Hawke’s. He took a breath, then looked at Hawke. “I must apologize,” he said. “This news has been a shock. Perhaps I should leave you to go back to sleep. I...I don’t wish to impose.” 

Hawke had reluctantly pulled his own hand back. He blinked at Fenris’s offer to leave him alone, surprised by how ready the elf was to leave after only just arriving. Fenris’s face, though, was a mask of unhappiness. He wasn’t looking to Hawke anymore, instead focusing on the blanket. Hawke hated seeing him look so miserable.

“No,” Hawke blurted out. “It’s all right. I don’t mind you staying here. I mean, I wasn’t really sleeping.”

Fenris’s eyes snapped back to him. “What?”

Hawke realized what he’d revealed and immediately began to grow red in the face. He’d just owned up to faking sleep, which in turn meant that he’d been fully awake for the beginning of the kiss. “I...uh. I thought you were Varric, and I’ve sort of been avoiding him by pretending I’m asleep,” he sheepishly admitted.

Fenris raised an eyebrow as he looked back at Hawke. If he was curious why Hawke was avoiding Varric, he chose not to ask. Instead, he cleared his throat. “So you were awake when I kissed you,” he bluntly pointed out.

“Yeeees?” Hawke said, drawing the word out as he felt his cheeks redden even further. “To be fair, I still wasn’t expecting a kiss!”

“I must apologize for that,” Fenris said, and frowned. “Had I known, I would not have…”

“It’s all right,” Hawke cut him off. He hadn’t meant for Fenris to feel guilty for kissing him. “It’s not your fault you didn’t know. You thought you were kissing your...husband?” He was going out on a limb here.

Fenris blinked at that. “Varric told you we were married?” It was his turn to look a bit embarrassed.

“...are we?” Hawke still wasn’t clear on their relationship status.

“No,” Fenris replied. “You...you wanted to. You said we should, once things settled down.” He shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh,” Hawke winced. Shit. Wrong guess. Well, at least it had still been a possibility, right? “Sorry…”

Fenris shook his head, then looked at Hawke. He seemed to be studying Hawke’s face; Hawke wondered if he was mapping the differences between the Hawke he’d known, and the Hawke that was lying in front of him now. “You truly remember nothing?” he asked, his voice soft.

“No,” Hawke replied. He was looking back at Fenris, and finding out how easy it was to lose himself in those green eyes.

“How did it happen?”

“Nobody knows,” Hawke replied. “They said somebody found me outside of a Rift, almost dead.” He winced when he thought about it. He’d gotten part of the story, but again felt like the whole picture had been kept from him. It didn’t help that he had no recollection of anything before waking up in this bed. “I don’t remember any of it. Nothing until I was here.” He patted the blanket over his chest and made a motion with his head to refer to his room.

“Varric said there were healers taking care of you,” Fenris said. “Do they...do they have any idea?” He was biting his lip in way that Hawke found very distracting. 

“No. It’s been rather frustrating,” Hawke admitted. “Nobody can explain why it happened, or how I’m supposed to fix it. So, I just lie here and wait. And wonder. And read about everything I should bloody well know already.” Hawke hadn’t meant to come off sounding so angry, and immediately felt a jolt of worry.

Fenris regarded him for a moment, then reached out to put his hand on top of Hawke’s again. “I know some of what you are feeling,” Fenris said. Hawke felt his heart beat just a little bit faster. “The frustration and the anger. The helplessness.” He squeezed Hawke’s hand.

Of course. How could Hawk have been so stupid? Fenris had been in a similar situation! The book had touched on it a little, and Varric had confirmed it. Hawke had been too busy dwelling on his own bitterness that he hadn’t even considered it was a shared experience. “Your memories…” Hawke began.

“Were taken from me,” Fenris nodded in confirmation. “Varric told you?”

Hawke nodded and held onto Fenris’s hand. “Yes. But he didn’t say if you got them back.”

Fenris took a careful breath and seemed to weigh his response. “Some,” he said. “But not all.”

Hawke was curious, but the look on Fenris’s face warned him that it would be better not to pry further. Instead, he simply accepted the answer. “Does it get any easier?” Hawke asked instead. “Not knowing?”

Fenris pursed his lips, and again took a moment before he answered. “No,” he replied, his eyes burning into Hawke. “You just learn how to live with it.”

“Oh,” Hawke said, feeling like he’d been punched. Well, so much for a bit of comfort. He supposed he should appreciate that Fenris was being honest with him. It was better than being tiptoed around, wasn’t it? It still wasn’t easy to hear.

“That does not mean you should give up hope,” Fenris said, sensing Hawke’s disappointment. “Your situation is different, Hawke. You have people who know you, who can help you.” He squeezed Hawke’s hand and smiled at him.  _ You have me _ , it seemed to say.

“That’s true,” Hawke replied, offering a weak smile of his own. He didn’t point out that it also meant that he had people who expected things of him. Who would be disappointed in him. Who would miss the old Hawke… 

But it was hard for Hawke to dwell on the negative with Fenris smiling at him like that. True, the smile was tinged with sadness, but there was also hope. And love. It made Hawke feel warm and tingly just thinking about it. This was what it was like to feel  _ loved _ . He ignored the voice in his head that reminded him that it wasn’t really meant for him. 

“Thank you,” Hawke said, his throat dry again. He cleared it and hoped he wasn’t blushing again. (He was.) 

“For what?” Fenris asked.

“For being so understanding,” Hawke replied. “I mean. This is...this has to be a lot for you to have dropped on you. Especially since you just came here expecting to...to be reunited with somebody who remembers you.”

“It was unexpected,” Fenris admitted. It wasn’t the best situation to find themselves in, was it? Hawke still thought Fenris was doing an amazing job at holding himself together. “But...I am just glad you’re alive. And in one piece.”

“Mostly one piece,” Hawke said, and tilted his head to display his mangled ear.

Fenris snorted at that, a sound that surprised both of them. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Perhaps there’s more of the old you in there than you realize,” Fenris said, and gently took his hand away from Hawke’s. He pulled back and carefully rose from his seat on the edge of the bed.

Hawke watched, taking in the full sight of him standing there. He wore a dark tunic under the light silver breastplate of the Inquisition. A pocketed belt was slung low over his hips, and his long legs were clad in dark leather. Near the door, Hawke could see the cloak he’d dropped next to a large bag - his travel gear, of course. There was also a giant sword resting on the armor rack. He looked back to Fenris and found that the elf was studying him. Hawke opened his mouth to ask him why he’d pulled away.

“I will take my leave for now,” Fenris said, before Hawke could voice his confusion. “I should speak with Varric, and this healer of yours. I’ll also see somebody about getting a room of my own. I…” He hesitated.

He’d been planning on sharing Hawke’s room, hadn’t he? Clearly, seeing as he’d brought all of his belongings with him. Hawke smiled at him and hoped it distracted Fenris from the sting of his realization. “Of course,” Hawke said, doing his best to sound cheerful. “Varric’s probably at the tavern. I’ve heard he likes to spend time there.”

“Yes,” Fenris nodded. He returned Hawke’s smile, though he didn’t sound very cheerful. He bent down and picked up a pair of gloves from the floor. “I will go check there first. Unless...are you well enough to accompany me?” 

Hawke’s smile dimmed a little, though he felt a burst of happiness at having been included. “Afraid not,” he said. “My feet haven’t been cleared for hobbling around just yet.”

Fenris glanced at Hawke’s blanket-covered legs and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I shall return for my things once I’ve secured a room. We will talk more.” He tilted his head to confirm it with Hawke.

“Sure,” Hawke replied. “I mean. Yes. That sounds good.” 

Fenris nodded. “I...I will see you this evening.” He turned from Hawke then, and made his way back to the door. He glanced once more over his shoulder, braided hair shifting as he turned his head.

“Later, Fenris,” Hawke said, and waved.

“Until then, Garrett,” Fenris replied, and let himself out.

_ Garrett. _ He’d said Garrett again, and the way it had  _ sounded… _

Hawke grabbed a pillow out from under his head and shoved it on top of his face. “Ugggh,” he groaned into it.

Things had somehow managed to grow even more complicated. How?? Hadn’t it been hard enough already? Hawke had spent months trapped in some strange dimension. He was injured. He had no memories. He had a best friend he was avoiding, and he’d just met his fiancé for the first time. 

And now, to top it all off, Hawke thought he might already be falling for the elf all over again.

Great. Just great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always find me on [my Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com/).


	19. Catching Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I am so sorry for the delay in getting this one up. Long story short, I went on vacation for a week and a half, and then got sick as soon as I got home. I'm still coughing, but I don't want to put this off any longer. So...here it is! I'm going to do my best to have the next chapter ready in a more timely fashion.

The Herald’s Rest was packed, even though it was barely midday. Skyhold was overflowing with people who had arrived ready to celebrate the Inquisitor’s victory over Corypheus. There was to be a party the following night, but everybody seemed ready to start things off early. And because they preferred to celebrate with a little ale in their bellies, the Rest was Skyhold’s most popular destination. 

Normally, Varric didn’t mind crowds. He was, after all, a people person. But Varric wasn’t in the best of moods today, and the tavern was starting to grate on him. It was too loud. And crowded. Even after he’d sought refuge at one of the second floor tables, he still felt like he was being jostled by other patrons. He was considering abandoning it for the main hall or maybe even his own room. But nobody would serve him ale  _ there. _

Plus, Varric was still holding out hope that something interesting might happen. Something that could maybe distract him, or be worth writing down. And hey, maybe it might even be something  _ good.  _ But so far, the only thing that had changed was that he was no longer alone at his table. A rather perturbed Dorian had joined him after finding his usual spot already overrun with strangers.

“Honestly, I’m as happy as anybody else that Corypheus is gone, but there comes a point where people must resist the urge to travel  _ here _ to celebrate it,” Dorian complained. He was leaning against the table, one hand swirling his goblet of wine. “Do you think they’ll all clear out after tomorrow’s party?”

“Mm, I don’t know, Sparkler,” Varric replied with a chuckle. “They might leave, but I have a feeling they’ll just be replaced by the next batch. And I think those ones are gonna be snootier.”

“What?” Dorian raised an eyebrow and set his wine down.

“You haven’t heard? The party tomorrow is too spur-of-the-moment for the Lady Montilyet’s taste. She’s planning something even bigger, more formal. Inviting all of those noble friends of the Inquisition that are always driving Flash crazy.” Varric chuckled at the look of distaste on Dorian’s face.

“When?? And does Cal know?” 

“Well, rumor has it, some time next month. And I don’t know if he knows yet, Sparkler,” Varric replied. “I only just heard about it this morning.” Some of the staff were already griping about it. And lucky for Varric, they were comfortable enough to grumble and complain around him. He’d never reveal his sources. 

“Oh, he’s going to  _ love _ this,” Dorian sighed, and leaned back in his chair.

“I’m sure. Speaking of, where is our illustrious Inquisitor anyway?” Varric asked, smirking over at the unhappy Tevinter.

“I believe he’s receiving some of those nobles you mentioned,” Dorian replied.  “If he hasn’t already escaped to his chambers.”

“Without you?”

“Even he likes a little alone time,” Dorian replied. He sat forward, one elbow on the table to cradle his head as he looked down over the crowded tavern floor below. “I suppose I shall go bother him when… Oh.” The bored expression on his face shifted to one of surprise, and he perked up. “Varric, I believe this may concern you?” He pointed down at what he’d seen below.

“Hmm?” Varric turned from his ale and leaned over to peer between the slats of the railing. He scanned the crowd, seeking out whatever had caught Dorian’s eye. There! Standing near the Iron Bull’s usual spot was an elf with a familiar head of white hair. “Oh, shit,” Varric said.

Fenris was standing awkwardly and accepting a friendly session of back-pounding from Krem. The Bull was up and gesturing to the elf as well. Varric could hear the rumble of his voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Both the Bull and his lieutenant were smiling. Fenris, for the most part, looked pleased enough to see them, though the usual stiffness to his posture was still there.

“Should I…go find Cal?” Dorian asked, a touch of worry in his voice. He hadn’t been present the last time Fenris had paid the tavern an unexpected visit, but he’d heard all about it. Now that Varric thought about it, the mage hadn’t interacted much with Fenris at all during his time at Skyhold. All of the concerned parties involved had assumed it wasn’t a great time for the altus to try socializing with the bereaved elf.

“No,” Varric replied. He watched Fenris lean in to ask Bull something. Bull nodded and gestured up in the direction of Varric’s table. Fenris turned his head, and for a brief second, he and Varric locked eyes. A shiver went up Varric’s spine. A memory. A broken cry. The pain and rage of a man whose world had been upended here in this same tavern, only a few months ago. That same man was looking up at him now, though the expression on his face was one of grim determination. Well, from what Varric could tell from up here, anyway.

“No, I think we’ll be all right,” Varric murmured to Dorian. Fenris had turned away to say something to Bull and Krem.

“We will? Should I go?” Dorian asked. “I don’t think I’m who he wants to see.” Fenris was climbing the stairs now.

“You probably aren’t,” Varric agreed. He noticed that there was no familiar sword strapped to Fenris’s back, and that he was missing any sort of travelling gear or cloak. Interesting. “You should stick around and say hello,” Varric added.

“I suppose I shall,” Dorian muttered. He sounded rather dubious of the whole thing, but it was too late for him to make a dignified exit. Fenris had finished climbing the stairs and was approaching their table.

Varric was glad to see him. He’d grown worried when he hadn’t gotten any updates regarding the elf’s journey to Skyhold; it was good that he’d made it back in one piece. Part of Varric was also relieved to see Fenris because now he had somebody else to help with Hawke. Somebody who saw Hawke as more than just the Champion of Kirkwall. Now Varric had the one person who knew Hawke even better than him.

And Varric was happy for the help because Maker, he’d gone and royally fucked things up with Hawke. His friend was actively avoiding him now, and Varric was at a loss for what he should do. He hoped Fenris could offer some advice. Once Varric told him about Hawke’s memory problem, anyway. Shit.  _ Shit _ . He’d been trying not to think about that! Was it too late for him to run now?? Why was he going to have to be the one to smash Fenris’s hopes for a second time? This fucking tavern was cursed!

It was too late to worry any more about it now; Fenris was upstairs and had nearly made it over to their table.  _ Steady _ , Varric thought to himself. He took a calming breath, released it, and put on a smile. 

“Fenris! You made it! I’m glad to see you got here in one piece.” Varric was surprised by how natural his own voice sounded. Dorian raised an eyebrow at him from across the table while Fenris stood beside the table, a vaguely troubled expression on his face.

“Varric,” he said. “Thank you. I...apologize for not keeping in touch.” Fenris glanced over at Dorian, who raised a hand in greeting.

“I don’t know if you remember me from before. Dorian Pavus. It’s good to see you back, Fenris.” True to form, Dorian was laying on the charm. Though, Varric knew him well enough that he could tell the mage was nervous. 

“I remember,” Fenris replied with a slight nod. He then looked back to Varric, clearly uninterested in whatever else Dorian might have to say. Varric was already studying Fenris. The elf looked better than the last time Varric had seen him. Healthier. His hair was longer, and he filled out his Inquisition-supplied armor well. And while he looked tired and worried, he didn’t seem exhausted. The aura of grief and desperation that had hung over him seemed to have faded. He looked good. Surprisingly so.

And now… Varric was suspicious. Why wasn’t Fenris desperate to immediately see Hawke? While he appreciated the friendly greeting, it was strange that Fenris wasn’t asking about his lover. And where was his sword? The bag he traveled with? There was only one explanation for this, wasn’t there?

Varric wasn’t the first person Fenris had come to see.  _ Shit. _

Varric was pulled from his revelations by Dorian pushing his chair back. “Well,” Dorian said, and downed the rest of his wine. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on. Why don’t you take my seat, Fenris?”

“That’s all right, Sparkler,” Varric said before Fenris could respond. “I think Fenris and I are going to take a little walk.” He pushed his own chair back and stood up. Fenris raised an eyebrow and stepped aside to give Varric some space.

“Oh,” Dorian said. “Then I suppose I shall take my leave as well.”

“Maybe Flash is done with his alone time; he might appreciate some company,” Varric said with a smirk. Dorian cleared his throat and Varric chuckled.

“Right. I’ll...see about that,” Dorian said.

“Take it easy, Sparkler,” Varric said, and clapped the man on his one bare shoulder before gesturing for Fenris to follow him. “I figure it’ll be easier to talk,” he explained to the elf as they made their way to the other end of the room. Rather than going out through the main entrance below, they climbed up to the third floor instead.

As they passed through the attic of the tavern, Varric breathed a sigh of relief that Cole’s little corner was empty. The kid was probably off helping somebody else right now, and for that, Varric was thankful. A minute later, the two of them found themselves outside on the battlements. The sun was shining down brightly, while a brisk wind whipped past them. It was quieter than the rowdy tavern; more peaceful too.

“So,” Varric said. He put his hands behind his back as he slowly strolled and glanced up at Fenris. There was a distant look on the elf’s face, like he was thinking deeply  about something. Varric was hesitant to pull him out of it; he trailed off and waited for a moment. Fenris seemed to notice the silence, and turned his head to acknowledge the dwarf. “You saw Hawke already, huh?”

“Yes,” Fenris replied. A look of pain flashed across his face. “How did you know?”

“Well, elf. The first thing you did was greet me,” Varric chuckled. “I was expecting a ‘Where is Hawke?’ instead of that.”

Fenris looked like he wanted to argue, but rather than try, he let out a disgruntled sigh. “Fair,” he said. “I could not find you when I arrived, but one of the steward’s assistants told me where Hawke was,” he explained. “I knew the way there.”

Of course he did. It was his old room too. He wondered, then, if Hawke had been awake and ready for his guest. “So, you found Hawke and…” Varric sighed. 

“He was pretending to be asleep,” Fenris said. “I went to wake him, and…” He paused and turned his head away. Varric could tell from the way his chin dipped down that he was embarrassed about  _ something _ ; it had always been one of his tells. 

“You went to wake him up…”

“I kissed him,” Fenris muttered. “I...tried to wake him with a kiss.” 

Varric was both moritified and deeply amused. Okay... maybe he was more amused. He stopped to lean against the stone wall beside them and let out a laugh. “I’m sorry,” he said, and laughed again. “It’s not funny, but… Shit. I know he wasn’t expecting that.”

Fenris let out a huff and crossed his arms over his chest. “I was not expecting his reaction either.” He frowned, the momentary embarrassment forgotten. “Hawke...he truly remembers nothing?”

It was like Varric’s laughter was sucked right out of him. While it had been funny to imagine Hawke sputtering in confusion that somebody was suddenly kissing him, it  _ really _ wasn’t funny for Fenris. He straightened up and shook his head. “Nothing,” Varric confirmed.

“What happened?” Fenris uncrossed his arms. “He says that he doesn’t know!”

“He  _ doesn’t _ know,” Varric said, and sighed. “Truth is, none of us do.

“ _ How _ ?” Fenris asked. His voice broke then, the weight of his emotions finally pushing through.

Varric pulled away from the wall and moved a little closer to him. He knew that Fenris didn’t like being touched - Hawke was the only one who could get away with casually throwing an arm around the elf’s stiff shoulders. So, Varric held back from reaching out and instead hovered just at the edge of the elf’s personal space. 

“C’mon, Fenris. Let’s take our walk. I’ll tell you everything I know.” 

Fenris looked at him, that same troubled expression from earlier on his face again. He nodded then, and followed as Varric started to walk again.

Varric started at the beginning - their fated stop at the Crossroads. He explained how they’d found the Rift, and how strange its absence of demons had been. Then, Adaar had found something on the ground that had made him turn around and race back to the Crossroads. When Varric revealed it was Hawke’s ring, Fenris’s face lit up. Varric made a mental note to get that ring back to Fenris as soon as he could.

He described how they’d raced back to Crossroads and found that it was Hawke, near-dead, in the Healer’s cabin. Fenris’s face darkened as Varric explained their nerve-wracking wagon ride back to Skyhold. Hawke’s strange fits, and his bleeding mana. They completed a lap of the battlements as Varric told Fenris about the spirit healer.

“Hawke mentioned a healer,” Fenris said, interrupting Varric’s story. “I would like to speak with them as well.”

“Sure,” Varric nodded. “Surana can explain all the magic-y bits to you better than me anyway.” Judging by the expression on Fenris’s face, Varric got the impression that the elf couldn’t care less about those magic-y bits. Well, some things never changed…

“So, this healer fixed what was wrong with Hawke?” Fenris asked. His green eyes were fixed on Varric.

Varric nodded and told the elf what he’d witnessed in the infirmary. After that session of spirit healing, Hawke’s fits had come to an end and he’d started to look better. “I sent your letter afterward,” Varric added. It went unsaid that Varric had been waiting until he knew Hawke would still be alive by the time Fenris got his message. Fenris, thankfully, chose not to push the subject.

Then came the waiting as Hawke slept, and slept, and slept. “And one day, he just woke up,” Varric said. He could still remember the joy he’d felt seeing his friend lucid and  _ alive _ . “But, then he just...apologized because he didn’t know who I was,” Varric sighed.

Fenris was silent for a moment. Thoughtful. “None of that explains why he doesn’t remember,” he finally pointed out, a frustrated look on his face. Oh, Varric knew that feeling all too well.

“It doesn’t,” Varric agreed. “Believe me. A lot of people smarter than me have racked their brains over it. The healer’s at a loss. Our collective of mages is clueless. The one Fade expert we had ran away, but not before telling us he had nothing to offer as a solution. Hawke is here. He’s alive. But he’s...he’s not the same.” Varric stopped walking and turned to lean against the battlements. He looked out over the garden in silence as Fenris settled against the wall next to him.

“Sorry I’m dumping everything on you like this, elf,” Varric said. “I’m just at a loss. I’ve been trying to be supportive and patient. Positive. But even I have limits for how much shit I can handle.” Varric grinned wryly to himself.

“You have been a good friend to him, Varric,” Fenris said.

“Have I? I...I don’t know. I think I fucked up, Fenris. Hawke hasn’t wanted to see me these past few days. Shit. That’s why he was pretending to be asleep when you walked in - he was avoiding  _ me. _ ”

“He mentioned as much,” Fenris murmured. Varric turned his head at that.

“He did?” How much had Fenris and Hawke spoken?? “Shit,” Varric muttered. “He’s mad at me because I haven’t been forward about everything. He thinks I’m keeping too much from him.” Varric sighed.

“Are you?” Fenris asked. Well, leave it to him to get straight to the point…

“Maybe,” Varric replied. “I don’t know.” Varric ran a hand through his hair, messing his ponytail in the process. “When Hawke woke up, I was happy. But then I was completely blindsided by the memory thing; I didn’t know  _ what _ to do. And he just looked so...lost.” Varric frowned. “And after everything he’s been through. Everything it took to get him here. I just thought maybe I could spare him from more pain.”

“I thought I could just wait until he was stronger.” Varric looked to Fenris and hoped that the elf could understand where he was coming from. Fenris looked like he was wrestling with what he wanted to say; his brow was furrowed and there was that slight crinkle to his nose that Varric recognized as annoyance. Varric waited for him to speak.

“I understand your concern,” Fenris said evenly. “But you failed to consider how frustrating it is for Hawke, to have somebody else making those choices for him.”

“Oh, I get that  _ now _ ,” Varric replied. “Like I said, I fucked it up. But I can’t exactly apologize to him when he’s faking unconsciousness to get out of seeing me.” Varric rubbed at his forehead. “I’ve been waiting until he’s ready to talk to me again.”

Fenris grunted, clearly displeased with Varric’s answer. Oh, that was rich. Like Fenris had any room to talk when it came to doing an ‘avoiding our feelings’ dance with Garrett Hawke.  _ Easy, Varric. Easy.  _ He knew better than to poke that sore spot. He was just feeling prickly now that all of this was finally being dragged out into the open.

“And the book?” Fenris asked tersely. “What made you think giving him that was a good idea?”

“Fuck,” Varric said, and sighed. “I gave him the book so he could read it without me. In hindsight, it wasn’t a good idea either, I just…” He looked away from Fenris, back out over the garden. “It’s hard to be around him sometimes,” he admitted. It felt strange to say it aloud; until now, it had just been something whispered by some dark part of his mind.

Fenris said nothing, and the silence was heavy between them.

“It’s the weirdest thing,” Varric said. “What he remembers. I mean, he can talk, and read. He knows about magic, and geography. He still laughs at the same stupid jokes. In a way, it just makes it harder, somehow.” Varric frowned. “Seeing those...bits of him. But _ not _ him. It’s like Hawke’s just been scooped away.” He glanced over at Fenris. The elf was clenching his fist and looking off in the distance.

“I’m sorry,” Varric said.

“I needed to hear the truth,” Fenris said, his voice more gravelly than usual.

Varric sighed. The truth sucked.

“I was hoping that maybe you being here would help,” Varric admitted.

“That I would help his memories return?” Fenris asked.

“Well, ideally, yes,” Varric said. “But even though that hasn’t panned out, I’m still glad you’re here. I mean, you have experience with this sort of thing, right?”

Fenris frowned and turned his head to direct it at Varric. “I assume you are referring to the loss of my own memories?” When Varric nodded, Fenris sighed. “Perhaps. I understand some of what he is feeling, though I was on my own after my memories were taken - I did not have anybody who knew me previously.” 

“Well, isn’t it good he has us?” Varric asked.

“I hope so,” Fenris said, and Varric wondered what  _ that _ meant. Why wouldn’t extra support for Hawke be a good thing? 

“Before, Hawke mentioned that you were getting some of them back,” Varric admitted. “Nothing too detailed,” he quickly added. He held his hands up in surrender when Fenris turned to him with narrowed eyes. “He just told me you were doing better.” 

“There were some,” Fenris replied. “Bits and pieces. Feelings. They come and go.” He waved a hand like they were unimportant. “Why?”

“How did you start remembering them? Is it something you could help Hawke with?” Varric asked. It was too much to hope for, wasn’t it? 

“No,” Fenris said. “I do not understand how my mind works sometimes. And besides, they are more like flashes of a different life. They do not make me who I was before - that man is gone.” Fenris froze as he realized what he’d just said.

Varric gave him a sad look. That was the other thing Varric had wondered, but hadn’t spoken aloud. What if Hawke didn’t get any better? “That guy waiting up in his room now - he’s Hawke, but he’s not  _ Hawke,”  _ Varric said.

“That isn’t his fault,” Fenris replied. 

“I know it isn’t,” Varric nodded. “But it doesn’t make it any less true. And it just...it’s something I’ve been thinking about, and it needs to be said.” Varric closed his eyes. “What are we going to do if nothing changes? What then?” 

“I don’t know,” Fenris admitted. His voice was soft.

“Shit,” Varric said, and let out a heavy sigh. Way to go, Varric. Poor Fenris had just hustled his elven ass across half a continent to get here, only to be welcomed by Varric Tethras’s personal pity party. Varric felt a stab of guilt over the misery he’d probably just inflicted upon his friend.  “This is probably too much to lay on you all at once, elf. I’ve  _ got _ to stop welcoming you to Skyhold like this.” 

“Your hospitality is rather lacking, dwarf,” Fenris deadpanned.

Varric laughed then, and for a moment he felt almost good. All right. Fenris could still crack a joke, so Varric hadn’t completely ruined things.  And really, they were getting ahead of themselves, weren’t they? Maybe all wasn’t lost. Varric just needed to step back and find his positivity again. They were going to keep working on finding a solution to this. Everyone was getting a happy ending, dammit!

“All right,” Varric said. He pushed back from the wall and clapped his hands together. Fenris startled and gave him a look. “Enough of this bullshit,” Varric said, rubbing his hands together. “You’re here, and Hawke’s alive. We’re going to figure this thing out if it fucking kills us.” When Fenris raised an eyebrow, Varric pointed a finger at him. “And it’s  _ not _ going to kill us because we’ve been through much weirder shit.”

“I just helped save the world the other day, elf. So now, I think the world owes me some decent luck for a change.” Varric grinned. Optimism felt  _ good _ right now.

“Your enthusiasm is disturbing,” Fenris said. “But...welcome.” He ducked his head to smile.

“I’ll take it,” Varric replied. “Now. You’re all caught up with everything I can tell you. What now? Would you like to talk to the healer? The Inquisitor? Or...maybe eat something?” He looked Fenris over again. He didn’t look like he was about to keel over, so at least that was a good sign.

“I would like to speak with the healer,” Fenris said. “And...perhaps the steward? I need a place to stay.”

Varric made a face. Shit. He hadn’t even thought of that. They couldn’t very well expect the two of them to share a bed now. “We’ll get you a room,” Varric said, and motioned for Fenris to follow him again. They left their spot against the wall and made for the stairs that would take them down to the courtyard.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” Fenris said as they walked.

Varric winced. “Yeah, I...I’m still sorry about all of this.”

Fenris nodded. “I meant what I said before, Varric. You are a good friend to Hawke. You may make some questionable decisions, but you care about him. Deeply.”

“You’re going to make me blush here, elf,” Varric said. Though he was playing it off as a joke, honestly Varric felt very touched to hear that from Fenris. Of course, the warm fuzzies couldn’t last.

Fenris nodded. “When you are finished blushing, there is something you need to do,” the elf said. “I will be fine on my own if you point me in the direction of the healer. You need go to Hawke, and apologize.”

Varric was taken aback. Maker’s nutsack, when had Fenris gotten so good at giving orders? The elf was fixing Varric with a firm look; there’d be no arguing with him. And besides, he was right, wasn’t he? Varric needed to embrace his newfound positivity and ask Hawke to forgive him. They needed to make things right.

“All right, all right,” Varric said, holding his hands up in defeat. “You win. I’ll go have a talk with him. But I’m holding you responsible if I end up having to kiss him awake too.”

Fenris chuckled, and Varric suddenly remembered what he’d told himself to do earlier. “Let’s make a quick detour to my room first,” he said.

“I appreciate the offer, but I would prefer my own quarters,” Fenris replied dryly.

“Ha. Ha.” Varric rolled his eyes. “No, it’s just a quick stop. I have something that used to be yours,” he said. “I think it’s about time it goes back where it belongs.” Varric wouldn’t take long at all; he knew exactly where in his room he’d stored Hawke’s ring.

Fenris gave him a curious look, then shrugged. The two of them headed down the stairs and into the crowded lower courtyard. Maybe, just maybe, things were going to get better from here on out. He stole a glance over at Fenris. After all, Varric was still holding out hope for that happy ending.

It was well-deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always find me on [my Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com).


	20. Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little late, but it's also a little longer.

** «  THE FIRST DAY  » **

Fenris opened his eyes. Where was he? He didn’t recognize the rafters of the ceiling above him, or the firm mattress under his back. He was comfortable, and nothing smelled of horse. He blinked again and suddenly he remembered - Skyhold. It was morning, and he was in his new room within the walls of Skyhold.

He pushed the covers back and sat up with a grunt. He looked around his new quarters as he cleared the sleep from his eyes - it was small and windowless, but he didn’t have to share it, and it was just down the hall from Hawke’s room.  

Hawke.

When Fenris had been coming back to Skyhold, he had thought about how things would be upon his return. At worst, he’d thought he would be sitting by Hawke’s bedside, holding his hand as he healed. At best, he’d hoped he would be waking up next to Hawke in his bed, both of them preferably naked.

But this?? Waking up alone because his lover couldn’t remember him? Never in his darkest thoughts or wildest dreams had he ever entertained the idea of anything like _this_.

Fenris pulled himself out of bed and went about readying himself for the day. He left his armor on its stand and opted instead for a dark tunic and fitted leggings. As he tied the red favor around his wrist, he paused for a moment and let his fingers brush over its familiar edges.

Hawke wouldn’t know what this meant to him now, would he? He wouldn’t remember tying it around Fenris’s wrist _that night_. He wouldn’t remember seeing Fenris wear it day in and day out. And he wouldn’t remember that one night when they were together, when he had untied it, only to immediately re-tie it right back in its place.

Fenris sighed and tightened the favor. There was no use dwelling on it right now, was there? He pulled his hair back and secured it in a neat ponytail, then grabbed Hawke’s ring from where he’d left it on his bedside table. He slid it on to his own thumb before he left his room.

It was a short walk down the hall to Hawke’s room. Fenris had stopped by again the previous evening, but Hawke had been half-asleep and in no condition to converse anymore. He’d invited Fenris to join him for breakfast the next morning, and promptly fallen asleep. Fenris had taken his leave and retired to his own room afterward.

Well, it was morning now. Fenris paused outside of Hawke’s room and wondered if he was too early. As he waited, his ears perked at the sound of voices behind the wooden door. He caught the deep timbre of Hawke’s laugh and suddenly something in his chest twisted with need. He reached up and quickly rapped his hand against the door.

“Come in!” called Hawke’s muffled voice after a moment.

Fenris ignored the feeling still lingering in his chest and opened the door. He stepped into Hawke’s room and was surprised by how bright it was compared to his own. Early morning sunlight was streaming in through the open window on the opposite wall. Hawke was sitting up in his bed, a stack of pillows propped up behind him. An elf stood next to Hawke’s bed, his blue robes and stark white hair standing out against the grey and brown tones of the stone room. It was Surana, the healer.

Fenris had met him the previous afternoon, once he’d finally parted ways with Varric. Fenris thought Surana had been vaguely familiar from his time spent at Skyhold, but they had never spoken. Though Fenris was still a little surprised that the healer in charge seemed so young, he trusted that he was capable. Surana was straightforward with Fenris, and did his best to answer his questions.

Unfortunately, not all of his answers were as satisfying as Fenris had hoped. Surana had admitted his own frustration at being unable to explain Hawke’s condition. He had promised that he would do everything in his ability to help make sure Hawke recovered. Fenris had come away from their conversation without much in the way of new knowledge, but at least it had been pleasant.

“Good morning, Fenris,” Hawke said, pulling Fenris from this thoughts.

“Yes, good morning,” Surana added. Fenris noticed that he was holding a bandage in one hand.

“Good morning,” Fenris replied. “Am I interrupting? I can return later.” He looked from one man to the other.

“Huh?” Hawke binked. “Oh, no. No! You don’t have to go.” Fenris turned his attention to him and Hawke straightened up a little. The look on his face was vaguely familiar, perhaps one that Fenris hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I was just about to see how Hawke’s recovery is progressing,” Surana said with a little laugh. “You’re welcome to pull up a chair and chat while I do.” He set the bandage down and gestured to the nearby chair.

“Please, do,” Hawke said. “I requested extra breakfast for you, since I asked you here to eat me. Er. Eat _with_ me this morning.” Hawke’s cheeks were red, and Fenris was finding it hard not to laugh. “Anyway they’re bringing more food up soon so stay,” Hawke quickly added. Beside him, Surana was trying not to look _too_ amused.

“I shall stay,” Fenris replied, still holding back a laugh. It was hard to say no to such a request. He moved over to the chair and picked it up to carry around to the unoccupied side of the bed.

“All right, Serah Hawke,” Surana said. “Shirt off, please.” He twirled a finger around and waited for Hawke to obey.

“Serah, _really_?” Hawke complained. He stole a glance over at Fenris before he leaned forward and carefully lifted one arm up. Surana leaned in and helped him to take the shirt off on that side, before carefully guiding it over his injured arm.

“I was just trying to keep things professional,” Surana replied. “Since I’m helping you disrobe in front of somebody special now.” He cast an amused look over at Fenris, who merely raised an eyebrow.

“Wh-what?” Hawke sputtered. His face went red again and Fenris couldn’t hold back a soft chuckle. That only made things worse.

“There we go,” Surana said, ignoring Hawke’s pathetic display. He leaned in and pressed a glowing hand to Hawke’s injured shoulder. Fenris could feel the magic in the air as the healer began to work. It was cool. Calm. At this distance, the edges of it brushed against his brands. They tingled a little, but Fenris ignored it.

He watched as the healer’s hands moved over Hawke’s skin. Seeing Hawke shirtless like this threw his weight loss into clear focus. Fenris frowned.

“It...it doesn’t really hurt much,” Hawke said, looking over at him.

“Hm? Oh…” Fenris stirred. Hawke must have noticed his expression. “Good. So, it is healing well?”

“That’s what Surana here says,” Hawke replied.

“Mm,” Surana replied, clearly busy with his magic.

“I really have been feeling better,” Hawke continued, filling the silence. “I mean, you can ask Surana here about my progress. Er. Well, my physical progress, anyway. He’ll tell you. ...if he could talk right now, that is.” Hawke smiled over at Fenris, who couldn’t help but smile back.

The way Hawke spoke made it hard to believe there was anything wrong. It sounded like him - all too eager for praise and smiles and all of the teasing that came his way. Was this making things harder or easier for Fenris now? He wasn’t sure. But he could see why Varric felt the way he did.

“Yes, yes,” Surana tutted as he finished with Hawke’s chest. He moved down, letting his glowing hands linger over Hawke’s belly. Fenris bit his lip. “What about your magic, Hawke. Felt anything new?” Surana asked.

“Don’t think so,” Hawke replied, shrugging his good shoulder. “They say I’m a mage,” he says, looking to Fenris. “But I haven’t felt very magical since I’ve been awake.”

Fenris pursed his lips and nodded in acknowledgement. That was something else Surana had explained to him. Hawke’s magical ability was currently lying dormant. That, at least, had a reason behind it. The healing process had wiped his mana reserves out temporarily. Those would return over time, Surana assured him. Slowly enough that Hawke could be re-trained in their control. Well, unless his memories returned before then…

“You’re one of the strongest mages I’ve encountered,” Fenris said to Hawke.

“Is that so?” Hawke blinked in surprise.

Fenris nodded. He hoped that the other elf was right, and that Hawke could easily reacclimate to his own power. Would he be able to show the same self-restraint that Fenris had come to admire over the years? Could he be trusted as he was now? Fenris glanced away and held back a frown. Instead, he focused on Surana, who had moved down to examine Hawke’s legs.

“How soon can I start walking around?” Hawke asked, his eyes now eagerly trained on the healer.

“Soon,” Surana replied. “Within the next day or so. Though...I’ll need to find you a cane first. You’ll need support.”

“I can handle a cane,” Hawke assured them both, and Fenris couldn’t hold back his smile.

“If you’d like to attend the celebration tonight as well, we can see about making special arrangements,” Surana said gently. Oh, that was right - there was a party to celebrate the Inquisitor’s victory over Corypheus. It hadn’t been one of Fenris’s priorities, so it had slipped his mind.

“Oh. I...I don’t think I’m up for that,” Hawke said. He looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I’d probably fall asleep on somebody important.” He gave a nervous laugh and Fenris knew immediately that there was something else he wasn’t saying. Maker, even his tells were still the same.

The rest of Surana’s healing session passed without incident. Breakfast arrived just as Surana was taking his leave, and Fenris was again left alone with Hawke. But Hawke was chatty and Fenris found it surprisingly easy to talk to him. Fenris could see what Varric had been unsettled by - it was off-putting how much he was still Hawke, but at the same time _wasn’t._ Still, Fenris was able to keep himself from focusing on it.  

Later that morning, Fenris took his leave when Hawke began to tire. Unfortunately, walking around Skyhold proved to be an ordeal. People. There were so many people. How had he not noticed it yesterday? Perhaps he’d just had more pressing matters on his mind.  

Fenris had hoped to find Varric so they could have another chat, or to perhaps catch up with some of the Chargers that were here. But it wasn’t worth the trouble of wading his way through the main hall or the tavern. He’d rather not be elbow to elbow with strangers who were all too fond of openly gawking at him. Instead, he found himself hunkered down in a library alcove for the better part of the afternoon. 

When he finally left the library, he made note to ask Hawke later if he’d like something new to read. Perhaps it would do him good to get a book that wasn’t Varric’s. Fenris made his way to the kitchens then, taking a familiar path that avoided the main corridors. Once there, he tried hard not to get in the way. The kitchen was a flurry of activity since the party was about to start. A few of the staff recognized him, but were too harried to properly greet him.

Fenris dodged around them as they worked and grabbed an empty plate for himself. He then set about plucking a few delicious-looking morsels before they made it to the serving trays. None of the staff seemed to mind; he was staying out of the way and they were all too busy to run him off just yet. Soon, his plate was piled high with food. Hm… Fenris grabbed one last apple and shoved it into the pouch on his belt before retreating. As he was leaving, he made sure to take an unopened bottle of wine from the serving station just beside the door.

“Don’t forget to bring the plate back, Serah,” somebody called out to him.

Fenris raised the bottle of wine in salute without looking back. He heard laughter as he turned the corner and hurried along one of the servant’s corridors. He managed to avoid running into too many people by sticking to the back halls. The party hadn’t quite started yet, but the crowd in the main hall was making a lot of noise. He was sure it was only going to get worse.

When he finally arrived at Hawke’s door, he had to tuck the wine bottle under an arm so he could knock. He waited until he heard Hawke call out before he pushed his way inside.

“Oh, Fenris!” Hawke said, sitting up straighter in bed. “Hello.”

“Good evening,” Fenris said, and kicked the door shut behind him. He moved toward the table next to the bed and saw that there was already a tray of half-eaten food sitting on it. None of it looked like the good stuff he’d brought along with him - they must have served Hawke before it was ready.

“Aren’t you going to the party? And oooh that looks good.” He leaned over to watch as Fenris made room on the tray for his plate of food. “Is this for me? I already ate some, but...”

“It does, and no. I thought I would join you. I brought this food to share,” Fenris said.

“That’s...I mean. You didn’t have to,” Hawke said, sounding a little choked up.

“Nonsense,” Fenris replied, and looked around for a corkscrew. Damn. He grabbed a knife from the tray and began to work at the cork.

Hawke cleared his throat. “Varric came by earlier,” he said. “He apologized, and tried to get me to go to the party. Then tried to stay here with me when I said I was too tired.”

“It is good he came to see you,” Fenris said, slowly twisting the cork up with the dinner knife. He would get this damn wine open one way or another.

“Yeah,” Hawke agreed. He reached over and carefully took a macaroon. “But I told him to go enjoy the party. Since...y’know. He deserved it.” He nibbled at the edge of the macaroon and then shoved it all into his mouth upon discovering he liked it.

Fenris snorted. With one last twist the cork was freed. Aha! He looked around for a glass and found only Hawke’s water cup. Hm. “You deserve it too,” Fenris said. He took a drink straight from the bottle and was pleased that it was a decent vintage. A little sweet for his taste, but the richness of the fruit was rather pleasant. He then offered the bottle to Hawke - he knew it wasn’t Hawke’s favorite sort of drink, but it would have to do.

 “Do I?” Hawke asked. “Maybe.” He took the bottle from Fenris and took a hesitant sip. Fenris chuckled at the look on his face. No, not his favorite at all.

 “Well, you deserve the good food, at the least,” Fenris said. He sat at the edge of the bed and took a small creme puff from the plate.

 “I’ll accept that,” Hawke said, and chuckled. He took another drink and grabbed a skewer of seasoned meat.

 The two of them worked their way through Fenris’s plate of food, sharing the bottle as they ate. Eventually, the plate was emptied and they were left with just the wine and Hawke’s boring dinner. The party was fully under way now; they could hear it echoing through the halls and in through the open window.

 “Y’know,” Hawke said, holding the neck of the wine bottle. “I’m not really that tired. I just...didn’t want people to see me like this.” He gestured at himself, shaking the remaining wine. “They expect a Champion. And not...not this. Not me.”

 Fenris watched him, taking in the red flush of his cheeks and the sad look in his eyes. “I understand,” Fenris said. He leaned in and gently took the bottle from Hawke’s hand. He knew all too well how it felt to be scrutinized, to have people’s eyes bore into you as they loaded their expectations and assumptions onto you.

“You do not wish for them to watch you - to judge you,” Fenris said. Hawke looked at him and shook his head. His cheeks were still red, but he didn’t look quite so sad. Fenris took another drink. “Come,” he said, and stood up. He set the wine bottle down and leaned in to put an arm around Hawke.

 “What?” Hawke tensed as Fenris braced his good side, but let himself be scooted to the edge of the bed.

 “We are going to the window. We’ll see if we can judge the partygoers from here,” Fenris replied.

 “I shouldn’t be walking around yet,” Hawke said weakly.

 “You aren’t,” Fenris said. He put his other arm under Hawke’s legs and scooped him up out of bed. He’d been able to do it when Hawke was his full weight; now, it was much easier.

 “Fenris!” Hawke clung to Fenris with his good arm.

 “Am I hurting you?” Fenris asked, immediately pausing his lift. He prepared to set Hawke down.

 “N-no,” Hawke replied. “Just my pride, I suppose.”

Fenris rolled his eyes and lifted him the rest of the way. “You have recovered that quickly enough in the past,” Fenris replied with a snort. He turned and walked them toward the window. Hawke was a warm weight against his chest, and Fenris found himself wishing… Well. Wishing things were different. They made it to the window and Fenris carefully set Hawke down to sit on the wide stone ledge. 

Fenris leaned against the other side and peered out. They could see the main courtyard, and the partygoers that had spilled out into it from the main hall. He crossed his arms over his chest and glanced over to make sure Hawke wasn’t in danger of falling over. Hawke blinked and quickly looked away, cheeks even more flushed than before. Fenris raised an eyebrow. Well, at least he was able to sit up on his own...

 “We. Uh. We _can_ judge them from here,” Hawke stammered. “Look at that hat on that one!!” He pointed off into the distance.

 Fenris turned his head to look, but managed to miss whatever Hawke had been pointing to. The two of them quickly made a game of spotting and making the other one find. Eventually Fenris went to retrieve the wine and finished it as they shared the window.

 Fenris missed the looks Hawke would steal while the elf was busy scanning the crowd. He did notice how Hawke held onto him a little more tightly when it finally came time to take him back to bed.

 He didn’t think too much of it.

 

* * *

  
** «  THE FOURTH DAY  » **

That morning when Fenris knocked on Hawke’s door, Hawke called out for him to hold on a moment. Fenris pulled his hand away from the door handle. Hm. Hawke must be in the middle of something. Maybe some more delicate healing?

Fenris was just about to turn and lean against the door frame when the door suddenly opened. Much to Fenris’s surprise, it wasn’t the healer letting him in. 

“Good morning!” Hawke said brightly. Hawke was standing! His left arm was free from its sling, and his right was using a cane to lean on. The room behind him was empty. So, he’d gotten himself out of bed and over to the door. Fenris felt a flash of pride.

“Good morning, indeed,” Fenris said. “It is good to see you up.” He smiled and Hawke beamed back at him. Hawke was also wearing new clothes - a white linen shirt and soft-looking leggings. He looked better than Fenris had seen him since he’d arrived. 

“Surana came early today and said I could try walking some today. So...I thought maybe we could try going to breakfast together,” he said, still grinning.

 Oh. Fenris looked at him in surprise. So, he was ready to try leaving his room? That was good. Fenris nodded and stepped back so Hawke could exit. “Of course,” Fenris said, pulling the door shut behind them. “Tell me if you need my assistance.” 

Hawke nodded and carefully hobbled his way along as Fenris led him down the hall. It was slow and nerve-wracking, but Hawke was persistent. He was sweating and grunting before long, but insisted he wanted to keep going. Fenris’s stomach was twisting in knots as he silently kept himself ready to catch the mage should he finally give in.

In the end, their struggle was made worth it by the look on Varric’s face when he caught sight of Fenris carrying Hawke down the main stairway.

 

* * *

  
** «  THE SIXTH DAY  » **

Fenris stared down into his drink. It was early evening and already there was a chilling bite to the wind that was encouraging him to go back indoors. But...Fenris wanted to think for a bit. He’d brought his wine outside the tavern to enjoy a little bit of quiet. He leaned against the stone wall of the battlements and shivered a little as the cold crept in through the fabric of his tunic.

He’d been back at Skyhold for nearly a week now, yet Fenris was still trying to parse his own feelings. He was happy that Hawke was alive and well on his way to recovering. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny that part of him was in mourning. Hawke’s memories were still gone, and they showed no sign of returning. The man he loved really hadn’t come back from the Fade after all.

But it was eerie how parts of the old Hawke still shined through. His humor. His sincerity. The way he talked and laughed and ate. Fenris was loath to admit that it really _was_ hard to be around him sometimes. He wouldn’t let himself put that blame onto Hawke though; he would bear that burden alone. Well, not quite alone. He’d spoken to Varric more about it the previous day. 

Fenris still wasn’t able to answer the question that the dwarf had asked him that first night. What _was_ he going to do if Hawke never got his memories back? Would he be able to stay with Hawke as he was now, or would it hurt too much? If he did, would Fenris be forever comparing Hawke to who he used to be? And there was no guarantee that this new Hawke even wanted Fenris back in the first place. The sting of that thought wasn’t as intense, but it was still there.

Fenris took a drink. He couldn’t keep putting this off forever… He looked at his own thumb, where Hawke’s ring still safely sat, and sighed. Right now, there was a fine balance to their routine, and he didn’t want to be the one to throw it off. Not until Hawke was more stable - both physically and with his magic.  For now, Fenris would let things remain nebulous. 

“He is who he is. But parts are missing and very much missed. It hurts to look too closely. Too much like me, but not the same. Not anymore.”

Fenris nearly choked on his wine when a voice suddenly spoke from just beside him. He tensed as he took in the over-sized hat and patchwork clothes. Pale hands worried themselves together as the creature watched Fenris with sad eyes. Fenris swallowed his wine and shuddered.

“You,” Fenris said, clutching tightly to his cup. Oh, he remembered this one. “I told you to leave me be.”

This boy, no, this creature - Cole had tried to speak with him in the past. Varric had tried to explain his presence, but Fenris hadn’t been in any state to understand or to care. After a second attempt at reading his mind, Fenris had warned the creature to stay away from him. Or else. 

Clearly, Cole hadn’t gotten the message, and he now thought he’d test his luck again.

“You remember me,” Cole said, his eyes widening.

“Of course I do,” Fenris replied sharply.

Cole’s eyes flickered over him. “The song is too loud. It drowns everything out,” he replied after a moment.

Fenris bit back a groan. Maker, he felt a headache coming on. He reached up to press his fingers against his temple. What was it he’d said?

“Too much like me, but not the same. Not anymore,” Cole chimed in.

“Stay out of my head,” Fenris warned, his eyes dark. _Too much like me, but not the same_. Was he referring to Hawke and the loss of his memories? Bah. What did this creature know of him? What gave him the right to pluck that out from the sea of Fenris’s worries?

“Wasn’t your head,” Cole said, as if that explained any of it. His voice was mournful. “I just want to help…”

“You cannot help me,” Fenris replied.

“Hands wringing. Nervous. Does he see me as I am? Or as I was? Hope flickers, small but there. He makes me feel like I am not alone,” Cole said, a distant look on his pale face. “You are not the only one who needs help.”

Cole’s gaze focused on Fenris then, and the elf pushed down the urge to flee. Why did they let this thing stay here?? He could feel panic rising within him, but Fenris held firm; he would not let his fear show.

“Then go help somebody else,” Fenris replied through gritted teeth.

Cole let out a sigh. “I tried…”

And then just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he was gone. Fenris was left standing alone, clutching his cup so hard his hand was starting to cramp. That...that had just happened, right?

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” he swore, and quickly downed the rest of his wine.

 

* * *

 

** «  THE EIGHTH DAY  » **

Hawke’s door was partially open when he arrived in the morning. He paused before he knocked and listened for a moment. Surana and Hawke were talking, and their voices were low and more serious than Fenris was used to hearing. So of course, he leaned in to listen.

“It’s normal, I swear,” Surana said. 

“How is it normal? It’s horrible,” Hawke insisted. Fenris raised an eyebrow and felt himself tense up. What was wrong?

“I know it’s hard, and very strange at first. But all mages experience the Fade when they sleep,” Surana replied. Fenris relaxed a little at that. Oh.

“I...I suppose,” Hawke murmured. He sounded absolutely miserable.

“I imagine it’s probably even harder for you,” Surana said gently. “You were physically there, after all. Perhaps it’s just...bringing back those memories.”

“Of course it would just bring back the shit ones,” Hawke grumbled, and Surana laughed softly.

“We’ll work on it,” the healer assured him.

“I hope so,” Hawke replied. “I just...I swear it’s like I’m being watched.”

“It will get better, I promise, Garrett.”

Fenris stiffened at that. Since when had Surana started calling Hawke by his given name? Before he realized he was doing it, Fenris was reaching forward and knocking on the door. He barely waited for Hawke’s call to come in before he entered.

“Hello, Fenris,” Surana said with a polite smile. Fenris nodded to him, then looked immediately to Hawke.

“Good morning,” Hawke said. The smile that lit up his face couldn’t quite hide the bags under his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll be going down for breakfast today. Afraid I’m not feeling my best.” Hawke’s face was pale and drawn, though he was doing his best to keep up the smile.

“I will sit with you then, if you’ll have me,” Fenris said, and moved toward his usual chair. He would ask Surana to handle sending breakfast up, once the mage was done with his duties.

“That’d be lovely,” Hawke said, his gaze softening. Some of the tension eased from the corners of his mouth.

Surana looked at Hawke, then back to Fenris; and neither of them noticed the amused expression on his face.

 

* * *

 

** «  THE TENTH DAY  » **

“I should probably warn you, elf,” Varric said. “Since you don’t seem too keen on it, as far as I can see. Or maybe you’re just ignoring it.”

“Warn me?” Fenris raised an eyebrow. What was he talking about??

The two of them were sitting in a corner of the Herald’s Rest, having a drink. It was early evening and Varric had invited him to a card game. He’d arrived to find that he was the first one there. Varric’s doing, of course.

“Mmhmm,” Varric said. He drummed his fingers on the table and looked thoughtful. “Just something I noticed regarding Hawke.”

Hawke would be playing with them tonight. He was probably making his way down from his room right now. Fenris hoped he would be careful with the stairs…

“What is it?” Fenris asked. He took a drink to distract himself from worrying about the man in question. Also, what did Varric assume that Fenris hadn’t noticed? Should he feel slighted?? Whatever Fenris thought it was, he wasn’t ready for Varric’s response.

“I think he’s sweet on you already,” Varric said. He smirked as he took a drink of his ale.

Fenris took a moment to process what the dwarf had said. “ _What?_ ”

 

* * *

 

** «  THE ELEVENTH DAY  » **

Fenris had been convinced that Varric was mistaken. How could Hawke remember nothing, yet already have some notion of feelings for Fenris? Varric had chuckled and told him that it was just a hunch. But then Fenris had spent last night’s card game watching Hawke - _really_ watching Hawke.

Once Fenris actually saw the way Hawke was looking at him, he started to think Varric might not be full of shit. Fenris knew that expression on Hawke’s face - that sheepish little smile, combined with the pink cheeks and darting eyes. He _knew_ what Hawke looked like when he was admiring someone. He’d been the target of that attention before, and _venhedis_ , how had he been so oblivious this time?

Needless to say, it had made the card game just a little bit awkward.

But today was a new day, and Fenris had promised Hawke a walk outside. Hawke had insisted that he was feeling well enough for it, and Fenris was not going to deny him.

So, the two of them started in the garden. Hawke was doing better at walking. He didn’t lean so heavily against his cane, and he was able to take short flights of stairs. Still, they were in no hurry as they strolled, enjoying the mid-afternoon sun. While they chatted idly, the wheels in Fenris’s mind were hard at work.

How? Was it just because Hawke found him attractive? It had started out like that before, hadn’t it? But from the way Varric had spoken, it had seemed like something more. Varric… _Oh._ Fenris clenched his fist as Hawke tried to make a joke about the herb garden. The book. Varric’s fucking _book_. Of course! Not for the first time, Fenris mentally cursed the day Hawke had given his blessing to Varric’s writing of it.

Hawke had been reading that Tale of the Champion and had gotten a crush on Fenris’s character, hadn’t he? Fenris had seen it happen before - Hawke would read something and end up mooning over one of the characters. Oh, that dreamy Pirate King. Or ahh that handsome Knight. But it was happening here and now, wasn’t it? Only this time, Fenris was the Pirate King. Oh, this had Hawke written all over it. Fenris winced at his own unintentional pun, certain that Hawke would enjoy it far too much.

“You all right?” Hawke asked. He was looking at Fenris, concern written all across his face. His stupid, soft-hearted, scruffy-looking face. “Was it that bad?”

“Apologies,” Fenris said, shaking his head to clear it. “I...my mind was elsewhere for a moment. What were you saying?”

“Oh. Okay. I…” Hawke cleared his throat. “I asked how the Inquisitor had the _thyme_ to tend to his own herb garden.”

Fenris looked at him and had to bite back a laugh. “You’ll have to ask him yourself, Hawke,” Fenris replied. “Come, _lettuce_ continue our walk.” Hawke let out a delighted bark of laughter and moved away from the potted herbs.

“So it wasn’t bad then!” He grinned as they made for the stairs that would take them up to a higher level.

“No, it was horrible,” Fenris replied. “But I know there is no stopping you. I have simply resigned myself to stooping to your level.”

“Aha,” Hawke chuckled. “I suppose I can work with that.” He glanced over, another one of _those_ looks on his face, and Fenris felt his own ears heat up. _Venhedis_ , this was getting even more complicated.

The two of them left the garden behind and found stairs that would take them up onto the battlements. Fenris took hold of Hawke and allowed the man to lean on him as they went up. It was more difficult than Fenris simply carrying him, but it made Hawke feel better. Once they had ascended, they took a break and leaned against one of the walls. 

“Thank you,” Hawke said, and carefully rolled his shoulders out.

“You are welcome,” Fenris replied.

“Not just for the help up the stairs,” Hawke said. “I’ve been meaning to say it for a while. But...thank you for everything, Fenris.”

Hawke was looking over at him, a strangely thoughtful expression on his face. Fenris looked back at him, surprised. Where had this come from?

“You’ve no need to thank me for anything,” Fenris replied.

“No, I do,” Hawke insisted. “I just...I appreciate you staying with me as much as you do. I know it...it must be hard for you, with me being like this.” He looked down at his own hands and flexed them nervously.

“Oh,” Fenris breathed. He wanted to reach out and touch him. To stroke his hair and chase the unhappiness from his eyes. But...Fenris couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right, not like this. “It is difficult at times,” he instead admitted.

Hawke nodded. “You don’t make it seem that way,” he replied. “I mean. It’s like it’s so easy to talk to you. I mean. I really like Varric, but sometimes it’s just...there are these expectations. You make me feel okay with...with not knowing who I should be. You’re so patient. And understanding. And just...amazing.” Hawke’s face was red. It only grew worse when he glanced over and noticed that Fenris was looking right at him. He tried to clear his throat and ended up coughing instead.

Fenris’s chest was tight with his own emotions. He was touched by Hawke’s words, and he was glad that so far he’d been able to be there for the other man. There was no way he could let Hawke know how hard it was at times, or about the conflicted feelings he’d been having. Fenris needed to keep being strong. For him. Because of him.

“You were the same for me,” Fenris admitted.

“What?” Hawke blinked.

“You were patient with me, when I was trying to figure out my own feelings. When I struggled with my own lost memories, and my past,” Fenris explained. “Though it must have been hard, you understood. It...it meant a lot to me.”

Hawke was looking at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

Fenris nodded.

Hawke shook his head. “I wish I knew how. I mean. I don’t feel patient at all,” he said. “I want to know it all now. I want to know myself. To know everything I’ve done, and how it felt. And to...know you again too.” He was clenching his fist so hard his knuckle was turning pale.

“It is hard,” Fenris said, his voice soft. He reached over and put a gentle hand on Hawke’s shoulder. He knew what that burning desire felt like. He knew how it was to yearn for something lost. The yawning chasm of his own forgotten past had nearly swallowed him before. It had taken years to learn how to live without it.

But how must it feel to have glimpses of that past shared secondhand with you? Were they doing the right thing by telling Hawke about who he was? Or was it only making things worse? Fenris didn’t know the right answer. He just knew that Hawke’s shoulder was warm and trembling slightly under his touch.

“I am sorry,” Fenris said. Hawke unclenched a fist and reached up to put his hand on top of Fenris’s.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Hawke said, his voice a little shaky. “I think this is probably all my fault anyway. Well, Past-Me. I mean...this all happened because of the Fade, right? And they said that I...I chose that.”

Fenris winced. This conversation wasn’t one he’d planned on having any time soon. “I do not blame you,” Fenris said.

Hawke chortled at that. “Don’t start lying to me now, Fenris. There’s no way you can’t blame me.” He tilted his head and looked over at Fenris, his amber eyes watery.

“Hawke... _Garrett_ ,” Fenris sighed. He squeezed his shoulder and shook his head. “I do not wish to speak of blame. I made peace with your actions when I mourned your loss. I blamed you, and I hated what you did for a time. But...I could not let those feelings consume me.”

Hawke’s eyes were wide again, and his fingers tightened where they gripped Fenris’s.

“I do not hold it against you now,” Fenris continued. “You have no memory of it, so I refuse to hold it over your head.” He narrowed his eyes, just a little. “Though when you are able to remember it, I do have some choice words for you.” _When._ He’d said when on his own. He still had hope, didn’t he?

Hawke inhaled sharply. He’d noticed the ‘when’ as well. He was silent for a moment, then a small smile began to work its way over his lips. “Being trapped in the Fade not punishment enough?” Hawke asked, loosening his grip on Fenris’s hand.

“When I am finished, you will wish you were back there,” Fenris deadpanned.

Hawke guffawed at that, though there was the briefest flash of _something_ in his eyes. “Somehow, I doubt that,” he replied.

Fenris was worried for a moment that he’d gone too far. But when Hawke didn’t react further, he instead took his hand from Hawke’s shoulder. “Shall we continue our walk then?” he asked, and offered the man his arm.

“Let’s,” Hawke said, and nodded. He took Fenris’s arm and settled in at the elf’s side. 

If Hawke stood a little closer to him than before, Fenris didn’t notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can always find me on [my Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com).


	21. His Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! But...this is like twice as long as my regular chapters. Oof. Enjoy!!

There is a sort of haze hanging over everything. The air is acrid, and it burns his nostrils with every breath he takes. His skin is tingling all over, and he thinks that all of his hair is raised on end. Wrong. Everything is wrong.

The landscape before him is alien. Strange. Shifting. Craggy rocks give way to deep pools of water. Is it water? It looks almost black. Beside it, a jet of sickly green fire shoots from a crack in the rock. It casts no reflection on the dark pool.

Hawke is tired and everything hurts. All he can focus on is the fear; it has set every nerve in his body ablaze and he’s barely holding back a scream. _Green. The Green. All there is is the Green._ The words echo in his head, pounding and drowning out everything.

Where had he heard them before?

_Ah. There you are._

Hawke freezes. The voice is soft, silky. It pulls his attention and snaps him back into focus. How had he heard it over the pounding of his heart and the ringing in his ears? Immediately he knows that he hadn’t heard it at all; the words had been in his own head.

_It’s time - time to return what you stole._

Hawke’s heart is thundering in his chest. He looks around, eyes wide and panicked. This is wrong. It’s all wrong. He has to find… has to find… He can’t remember. There was something that he needs to remember. He tries to clutch at his staff, only to remember that it is gone. Lost.

He’s lost.

_Not lost._

Hawke’s head whips around, trying to find the source of the ‘voice’. Nothing. Just a sickly shimmer in the air. Another jet of fire shoots from the ground and distracts him. When he turns back to the shimmer, it is gone. Something brushes against the back of his neck and Hawke bites back a scream. He turns his head.

“Found you,” the voice says aloud, whispering it right into Hawke’s ear.

Hawke can no longer hold back his scream.

Everything twists. Fades…

\- - - - -

Hawke awoke with a choked cry. It turned into a surprised grunt as he found himself falling through the air. He hit his bed with another unceremonious grunt and nearly bounced right back off again. Fuck. He’d been floating in his sleep again, hadn’t he? He lay there breathless, sweaty, and shaking as he stared up at his darkened ceiling.

“Shit,” he said. He tilted his head to look over at the fire flickering dimly in its grate. He hadn’t been asleep that long, had he? Hawke sat up and concentrated on the fire. It flared back to life with a roar, nearly shooting itself right out of the fireplace. “Shit!!” he again exclaimed. Damn! He winced and the flame shrank back to a normal size.

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief and carefully pulled himself out of bed. He shivered a little as his bare feet touched the cold stone floor. The chill was reassuring though; it made things more real. The floating and the fire - those still felt so strange. Like they were something that should be happening to somebody else. He looked over to where the flames were now crackling cheerfully at him.

Hawke’s magic was coming back.

And with it, apparently so were some fucking horrible dreams. Surana kept assuring him that they were normal, that all mages experienced vivid dreams and were often visited by demons. How in the blazes did other mages deal with it? Hawke felt like he was going crazy. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days. Was it days? Or weeks? It sure felt like weeks, but he wasn’t really sure.

It was always the same. Every night, he inevitably found himself wandering that hellish landscape. Oh, sure, sometimes it would _look_ a little different. Once, it was a beach next to a sea of still black water. Another time, it was a quaint little village where all the buildings were burning with a greenish fire. But deep down he knew it was that same cursed place - it was always the Fade.

And to make matters worse, Hawke was sure that something was following him. That voice that had spoken to him - Hawke knew he’d heard it other nights. And there was another feeling, one of _eyes_ boring into him. Always seeking him out. Looking him up and down. _Probably just demons_ , Surana had said when Hawke had asked. _Sometimes they try to tempt mages - they’re drawn to our power. Just don’t listen to them._ Well, that was easier said than done!

Hawke sighed and pulled himself out of bed, then carefully made his way over to the window. _Just demons_. He made a face and leaned against the window ledge. Outside, Skyhold was asleep. Torches burned along the walls, small lights that did little to push back the darkness of the night. Hawke shivered again and held back a yawn.

Something needed to change, and soon. He didn’t know how long he could keep going on like this. Before, it had seemed like he did nothing _but_ sleep most of the day away. Now, he dreaded it. He slept in fits and bursts, and never felt fully rested. Most of his injuries were healed, but he was always tired. On edge. He thought he was hiding it well enough, but Surana was looking at him with more concern each time he visited.

And Fenris… Hawke swallowed nervously. He didn’t know what Fenris was thinking whenever the elf looked at him. Hawke hoped it was good things. He hoped Fenris was seeing more than just the bags under Hawke’s eyes.

Hawke carefully pulled himself up onto the window ledge and thought back to that night. How long had it been? About two weeks? He’d known Fenris for two weeks now, and he thought he understood why he’d fallen for the elf earlier in his life. Maker, it hadn’t even taken him two weeks to figure _that_ out. With every day that passed, Hawke’s feelings for him grew.

Hawke let out another wistful sigh and stared out into the darkness. That complicated everything, didn’t it? Damn… It was easier to just...not think. He closed his eyes and found himself drifting off.

Hawke fell into a sort of half-sleep. It wasn’t the restful sleep that he needed, but it made the time slide by. He woke with the dawn and crawled down from the window ledge with a groan. That had _not_ been the best place to try and rest. Maker, why hadn’t he pulled a chair over? Speaking of which...he somehow made it over to the chair and dropped into it.

Surana found him there a few hours later. The elf tutted at him and shooed him back to bed.

“All right,” Surana said, his cool hand pressed to Hawke’s forehead. “This is not progressing as it should.” He frowned as his hand moved down, feeling the clammy skin of Hawke’s face. His fingers came to rest at Hawke’s temple.

“What’s that?” Hawke asked. His head was pounding, but Surana’s hand felt nice.

“I know you haven’t been sleeping. I’m sorry, Hawke. I should have taken your concerns seriously.” He sighed, his features pinched in unhappiness. “I failed to consider that you may be more prone to influence. You’re a full grown mage, and a powerful one at that. Though you’re lacking in the raw power now, the potential is still there. Perhaps they’re honing in on that…making things more difficult.” He pulled his hand away and tapped a finger thoughtfully against his own chin.

“Mm. So it’s not my fault?” Hawke asked.

Surana rolled his eyes at how pitiful Hawke must have sounded. “No,” he replied. “If it’s anybody’s fault, it’s my own.” He sighed. “I’ll be right back. I need to fetch some things from my clinic.”

“I’ll wait here,” Hawke said helpfully. As if he was in any state to get up and follow after the healer.

“You do that,” Surana chuckled. He turned and quickly left Hawke’s room.

Hawke was left to his own thoughts, as usual. He stared up at his ceiling and willed his head to stop pounding. Well, at least there was probably an explanation for his inability to sleep. He was some sort of demon magnet. Right? But shouldn’t there have been a lot of them? Why was it always that same single voice? Hawke sighed, not wanting to worry himself.

When Surana returned a little while later, he came bearing food and a satchel of potions. Surana sat with Hawke while he ate, and listened as he described his dreams again. Surana frowned a lot, but had no better explanation for Hawke. Afterward, the mage presented a small vial to Hawke.

“This is for today,” Surana said, handing it to the curious man. “It will invigorate you, give you some of the energy you’re lacking. We’re not going to make a habit of this.” He gave Hawke a firm look as Hawke undid the stopper. The potion was vibrant gold in color and there was a smell of flowers with some strange sharp undertone to it. Hawke tipped it back and drank it down in one go. He felt it blaze a trail down his throat and immediately the fog in his head began to clear.

“Oh,” Hawke said, clutching the bottle. His whole body was buzzing with energy now, and it felt fucking _amazing_.

“Oh, indeed,” Surana said, taking the empty vial back. “Like I said, this is just for today. Tonight…” He held up another bottle. This one held a deep blue liquid. “I’m trusting you with this. Drink the whole thing when you want to go to sleep, and make sure you’re already in bed while you do.”

Hawke’s eyes widened.

”It will probably knock you out,” Surana said with a little chuckle. “It brings forth a very quick sleep. A quick, _dreamless_ sleep.”

Hawke reached for the bottle. “Really??”

“Yes,” Surana nodded, carefully handing it over. “It should block your sleeping mind from drifting into the Fade.”

Hawke eagerly took the bottle and held it in his hands. “Why didn’t you mention this before?” he asked.

“Because I was hoping we would resolve your sleep trouble naturally,” Surana replied. “It isn’t healthy to take this sort of potion for an extended amount of time. It will begin to lose its efficacy after a time. Also, your body needs to sleep on its own. With this, you won’t feel fully rested when you wake up.”

“I don’t feel fully rested now,” Hawke muttered.

“I know,” Surana said softly. “We’ll keep working on it, I promise. In the meantime, this is the best I can offer.”

Hawke looked back at him. “Thank you,” he said. He gently set the bottle on the table beside him. For the first time since his magic had begun to trickle back, Hawke didn’t feel a sense of dread when he thought about sleeping.

\- - - - -

After a full day of exploring the libraries with Fenris, Hawke retired to his room. Thanks to the earlier invigorating potion, he’d managed to enjoy himself. Now, it was time to test out the healer’s other potion. Hawke slid into bed and opened up the bottle. The liquid inside was thick and smelled sweet. Hm. Well... Hawke chugged it as quickly as he could. Surprisingly, it tasted of berries. And...something else. Something…

Hawke somehow had enough sense to set the bottle back on the table before everything went black.

  


* * *

  


Surana’s sleep potion worked. When Hawke woke the next morning, his head was a little fuzzy and it was hard to open his eyes. But...it was morning. He’d made it through the whole night without waking up screaming. Or floating.

A little drowsiness was a small price to pay.

Hawke wasn’t sure why, but he kept it all to himself. Nobody but Surana needed to know about the dreams, or the sleeping draughts. Varric and Fenris already worried about him too much; he didn’t want to add to their troubles. 

  


* * *

  


Two more blissfully dreamless nights of sleep passed, and Hawke woke to an unexpected knock on his door. It was a tailor, visiting him bright and early to fit him for a new set of finery. Hawke tried to hold back his yawns as the tailor measured almost every inch of him.

Somehow, Hawke had forgotten that there was a party fast-approaching. Though, it was probably more of a ball, wasn’t it? The first celebration had been a party thrown to celebrate the defeat of Corypheus. It had also been a party that Hawke had missed. This one, though, was going to be _bigger_.

According to Varric, it was to celebrate not just winning the final battle, but winning the whole _war_. More guests were invited, ones that would be traveling from farther away. (There was a rumor that even the King of Ferelden might be showing up.) More food. More entertainment. More everything.

And this time, Hawke had decided that the Champion of Kirkwall would be in attendance. He couldn’t keep hiding in his room. If he could handle the stares he got while wandering Skyhold with Fenris, he could handle a night of getting them from a bunch of partygoers. ...right?

  


* * *

  


As the days went by, Skyhold grew more and more crowded. How could there still be people arriving? Where were they all going to fit? Hawke found himself following Fenris to out-of-the-way corners of the keep to escape the increasing amounts of curious looks.

“How did you even find these places?” Hawke asked one afternoon. They were sitting in what appeared to be a small room dedicated entirely to old bottles of booze. Hawke thought they were important, so he’d avoided touching them. Instead, the two of them were sharing a bottle of wine Fenris had grabbed from the kitchens.

“I was previously given permission to roam the keep,” Fenris replied. He took a drink from the bottle and Hawke tried not to stare at the way his throat moved as he swallowed the wine. “So I did, and I found places where I would not be bothered.”

“Well, I don’t think anybody will be bothering us down here,” Hawke laughed. He reached out and Fenris handed him the bottle. Their fingers brushed and Hawke felt another spike of...of something.

“No,” Fenris replied, and looked away. “I was left alone.”

Hawke took a drink. He hadn’t been fond of the wine he’d tried before, but Fenris was really good at finding types he actually liked. The taste of it was starting to grow on him. “D’you prefer that now?” Hawke asked.

“Hm?” Fenris looked back at him curiously.

“Being alone…”

“Oh.” Fenris leaned in and grabbed the bottle from Hawke. “No,” replied, and took a drink. “I do not.”

“Me either,” Hawke replied, and grinned sheepishly. Why had he even asked that? He sometimes found it hard to control his mouth whenever Fenris was with him.

Fenris rolled his eyes at him, though there was a smirk on his lips. Hawke had gotten better at picking out those little smiles. He supposed it helped that he often found himself looking at Fenris’s mouth.

“Say, Fenris,” Hawke said. He needed to distract himself. “About the party later this week. You...you need an escort?” Maker, what the hell kind of invitation was _that_?

The look on the elf’s face was worth Hawke’s embarrassment.

 

* * *

 

“Okay,” Hawke said. He was looking in the mirror that had been brought to his room earlier in the day. The man that was looking back at him was...surprisingly impressive.

Hawke had been slowly putting on weight throughout his recovery. His cheeks were filling out again, and his skin had lost its sickly pallor. Despite the bags that still lingered under his eyes, he looked _healthy._ A hot bath in his own copper tub had left him feeling (and smelling) nice and clean. Refreshed, even.

A barber had paid him a visit and had attempted to tame his hair. Hawke had him leave it a little shaggy, just enough to cover most of his ruined ear. His still-growing beard had also been neatly trimmed and shaped. He brought up a hand and ran it over his jaw as he looked at his reflection. All right, he understood why he kept a beard.

Hawke ran his hand over his chest, smoothing down the fabric of the sash that crossed over it. The tailor had really done a nice job on everything he was now wearing. It was the Inquisition’s standard finery - or so he’d been told. A smart black jacket with gold trim and buttons, crossed over by a golden sash. Tight black trousers clung to his legs, almost uncomfortably so. He supposed he needed to get used to wearing proper trousers again, now that he wasn’t skulking around the shadows of Skyhold, or staying holed up in his room. He was adjusting to the high black boots as well.

Hawke turned to the side and nodded as he looked himself over again. No, not too bad. Not too bad at all. There was a knock at the door. “Just a moment,” Hawke called, and moved back toward the bed. He grabbed his black leather gloves and hesitated as he looked the cane resting against the nightstand. He’d been doing better without it lately, hadn’t he?

Hawke sighed and grabbed it anyway. He’d be on his feet a lot tonight. He shoved it under his armpit and pulled on his gloves as he moved to the door. “Sorry!” he said, and pulled it open. “I was just-“ Hawke trailed off and stared.

Fenris was waiting just outside the door, arms crossed over his chest. He wore the same outfit as Hawke - Inquisition black and gold. _There’s no comparing me to him_ , Hawke thought. The jacket was fitted to perfection, and the trousers… They were _tight_ . So tight Hawke thought they were closer in style to the leggings Fenris usually wore. They hugged every inch of the elf’s legs, down to where they disappeared under his high black boots. Maker, his _boots_ were even fitted. Hawke’s mouth went dry.

“Hawke?” Fenris said. Hawke jumped, his cane clattering to the stone floor as he lost hold of it.

“Shit!” Hawke said. “I mean. Um. Hello, Fenris,” he fumbled.

Fenris chuckled and moved to retrieve Hawke’s cane. Hawke had to bite his lip as the elf bent over. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Hello, Hawke,” Fenris said, straightening up and handing Hawke his cane. He was smirking.

“Th-thank you,” Hawke said, taking the cane from Fenris’s leather-clad hands. Hawke noticed the bit of red fabric tied around Fenris’s wrist. Fenris was always wearing it, wasn’t he? Hawke had learned the favor’s meaning and still felt a little swell of warmth whenever he saw it.

And now that he wasn’t focused on Fenris’s legs, it gave him a chance to take in the elf’s face. His white hair was slicked back and pulled into a ponytail tonight. It helped highlight his sharp features and revealed more of his tattoos. Maker, how had Hawke not noticed those dots on his forehead before? “You. Uh. Look really good tonight,” Hawke said, forcing himself to stop staring.

“Thank you,” Fenris said. “You look...very nice as well.” He cleared his throat as he looked Hawke up and down. Oh. _Oh._ Fenris was flustered, wasn’t he? Hawke beamed.

“I guess I clean up pretty well, huh?” Hawke laughed. He offered Fenris his arm. “Ready to be escorted to the big party?”

Fenris quickly composed himself and stepped closer to Hawke. “Aren’t I the one escorting you?” he asked, and linked his arm with Hawke’s. Hawke felt a shiver of pleasure; it felt so natural for them to get this close now.

“What? No way,” Hawke replied as they set off down the hall. “ _I_ asked _you_ to be my date.”

“Mm,” Fenris replied. He didn’t sound convinced. “Is that so? I believe I am the one leading you from your room to the party. And I will be the one to keep you safe from overenthusiastic partygoers.”

“Oh, is that so?” Hawke asked. He was pleased that Fenris hadn’t reacted badly to being called Hawke’s date. He was, wasn’t he? They were attending the event together, arm in arm.

“It is,” Fenris replied. They carefully made their way down the first set of stairs. “I did it in the past. You...you had to attend parties as Champion, to appease the nobles of Kirkwall.”

“And you escorted me then too?” Hawke asked.

“In a way,” Fenris replied. “It took time, while we were...apart. I was eventually swayed, though I did little more than stand behind you and glower at nobles. You said that was enough.” Fenris’s voice was a soft rumble. It was the gentle tone he sometimes used when he brought up the past. “Once we were together again, you insisted I stand beside you while I glowered.”

Hawke felt his face heat up. “Well,” he said. He leaned a little more heavily against Fenris as they rounded the corner that led them to the main stairway. It was louder here, sounds filtering up as the partygoers waited for the start of the festivities. “You don’t have to glower tonight,” Hawke said. “You can smile a little bit.” He glanced over at Fenris.

“I shall consider it,” Fenris said, and ducked his head. He didn’t have that fringe of hair to hide behind tonight, and the flustered expression on his face made Hawke’s chest tighten. They were nearly to the main hall, and already the corridor they were using was far more crowded than usual. Still, it felt nice to be so close to Fenris, regardless of any looks they were getting.

Hawke was working up the nerve to tell Fenris how much he enjoyed his smile when he heard his own name ringing out from up ahead.

“Hawke!” Varric called again. “Fenris! Damn.” The dwarf laughed and pushed past a few startled-looking guests. “Look at you two,” he said, swaggering up to them. Varric was wearing the same black and gold ensemble, though he’d undone the first few buttons to allow his chest some breathing room. “You look good.” He reached over to give Hawke a good-natured smack on the back.

“You too, Varric,” Hawke laughed.

“I always look good,” Varric replied. He eyed their linked arms for a brief second and then smirked up at Hawke. “Well, let’s not just stand around here. We’re supposed to be celebrating. And besides, there are a bunch of fancy nobles waiting around to gawk at us.”

“R-right,” Hawke said, and all of his warm Fenris-related feelings evaporated. He was going out in public tonight, wasn’t he? He’d made himself forget about it for a while. “If you...if you want to bring out a few of those dirty looks in between the smiles…”

“I remain at the ready,” Fenris said softly, and patted Hawke’s arm.

“Come on, you two,” Varric said from Hawke’s other side. The three of them made their way down the corridor, paying the whispering onlookers no mind.

As he entered the main hall with Fenris and Varric, Hawke thought to himself that it probably wasn’t fair to simply call this event a ‘party’. Event was closer. A ball? Not really, though there was some dancing. Spectacle? Gala? That might be it - a grand gala.

The hall itself had been completely transformed. All of the tables had been cleared to the sides, pushed back and piled high with delicious food. Lights flickered from the walls, casting the whole space in warm light. The simple banners that normally hung had been replaced with golden ones that shimmered in the light. The Inquisitor’s throne was still in its normal location at the head of the hall, and upon it sat the Inquisitor himself.

Adaar was dressed in the same black uniform as his companions, though his had more intricate gold embroidery along all its edges. His horns were covered in gold leaf and shone brightly above his head like a halo. He was receiving a line of guests who were waiting to introduce themselves.

Adaar caught sight of them and briefly raised a hand in greeting. Varric waved back, and the three of them moved on, filtering through the crowd at an easy pace. Hawke was well enough. They were getting looks, but nobody had accosted them. It was good to walk with Fenris and Varric, though they did find themselves stopping a lot so Varric could schmooze. Eventually, he had to wave Hawke and Fenris on without him; he’d finally been caught by his publisher.

“And that’s how we lost him,” Hawke said, shaking his head in regret.

Fenris chuckled and guided Hawke over toward one of the banquet tables. “Food. Then we can see what the courtyard is like,” he said, and let go of Hawke so they could both grab plates. Hawke nodded, eager to have some of the food. He was also looking forward to seeing what everything looked like outside. The main hall was just a part of the celebration. Truly, all of Skyhold’s public spaces had been taken over. The courtyard, the tavern, and even the garden had all been decorated and open for partygoers.

Hawke piled a plate high with as much finger food as he could, making sure to snag some of the macaroons he remembered from the last party. He grinned at Fenris, who had been a little more judicious in his choices. Fenris rolled his eyes and nodded for Hawke to follow him. They hugged the wall, skirting around the edges of the crowd, and escaped out the main door.

From there, they wandered down into the courtyard, which was lit by softly glowing lanterns. The middle of the yard was being used by dozens of dancers, who were being accompanied by a string quartet playing some sort of waltz. Hawke glanced over at Fenris and wondered if they’d danced together before. Could Hawke even dance now? Should he… He grinned sheepishly as Fenris caught him looking, then quickly shoved a macaroon into his mouth.

They found a wall to lean against, away from the dancers. It was quiet enough to talk, and they could still enjoy the music. There, they settled in and ate their food. Hawke recognized one of the dancers in the distance - a blonde elf wearing the black Inquisition finery. Sera, wasn’t it? She was with a dwarven woman, and was practically picking her up as they spun around in a dance of their own.

Hawke smiled and snuck a look over at Fenris. The elf was watching the dancers as well, a thoughtful look on his face. Maybe Hawke should… No. His stomach was tying itself in knots already. He wouldn’t survive spinning around for a dance, especially not when he would be expected to hold Fenris in his arms.

Hawke looked away. Why was he torturing himself like this? Hawke bit his lip and tried to focus on watching everybody else have fun.

“Hawke?”

“Huh?” Hawke must have zoned out. Fenris was looking at him expectantly. “Sorry, what?”

“What would you like to do next?” Fenris asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh. I...I don’t know,” Hawke replied. “Wanna check out the tavern? Maybe get a drink?” That was safer than dancing, right?

“Of course,” Fenris replied. He took Hawke’s empty plate from him so Hawke could use his cane again. Hawke was holding up well enough, but he needed to remember to pace himself. They strolled through the courtyard, taking their time as they approached the Herald’s Rest. The tavern was lit up and overflowing with revelers, and was loud enough that Hawke was having second thoughts. They paused outside the door, not quite sure if it was worth pushing their way through.

“Maybe…find a drink somewhere else?” Hawke suggested weakly. He wasn’t sure he was up to braving this particular crowd. Suddenly, he regretted leaving their quiet corner of the courtyard.

“That is a good idea,” Fenris replied. They turned to make an escape when a shout rose above the noise of the packed tavern.

“Fenris!”

Both Fenris and Hawke stopped in their tracks and turned back around in surprise.

“Hey, Fenris!”

The Iron Bull was calling to them from inside the tavern. Hawke could see his horns above the crowd. He raised an arm and waved, gesturing for the two of them to come in. Fenris looked to Hawke, eyebrow quirked up.

“Well, lead the way,” Hawke said with a crooked smile. Fenris had told him about his time as one of Bull’s Chargers, and Hawke assumed the crew was gathered somewhere in the tavern. Fenris nodded to him, then shouldered his way into the tavern. Hawke followed along and tried not to hit anybody with his cane.

The two of them pushed their way toward Bull. The qunari was clutching a tankard of ale in his large hand, and he raised it in salute when they finally made it over to him. “Glad I caught you two,” he said, grinning at Fenris. “We’re all upstairs, and I know the boys want to see you.” Hawke knew it wasn’t often that all of the Chargers were gathered at Skyhold. Of course they’d want to see Fenris.

“Think they’d like to see you too, Hawke,”  Bull added with a wink of his good eye.

“Really?” Hawke replied. He’d met the Iron Bull once or twice, as well as his lieutenant, Krem. But none of the others. So, why did they want to see him?

“Of course,” Bull said with a laugh. “They want to get a good look at the guy that got Fenris to tear ass across a desert all alone.”

Hawke’s eyes widened and he looked over to Fenris. The elf seemed a little uncomfortable, though he was still rolling his eyes at the qunari. What could Hawke even hope to say to that? Did they hold it against him? Were they impressed? Or was he going to be expected to impress them now?

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Bull cut in. “You cleaned up real nice tonight. One look at you in that uniform? They’ll get it. And both of you together?” Bull laughed and gave them a thumbs up. Hawke could feel his ears burning.

“We’re flattered,” Fenris said dryly. He offered his arm to Hawke, who automatically latched on.

Bull grinned and then gestured for them to follow him as he led them over to the stairs. It was a lot easier getting through the crowd now that Bull was clearing the way for them. Arm in arm, they stayed close behind and followed him upstairs.

“Look who I found!” the Iron Bull boomed.

The second floor of the tavern wasn’t _quite_ as crowded as the first. It was still pretty noisy though, as nothing kept the sounds from below from echoing up. The Chargers had taken over an entire corner. The group was crowded around two tables that had been pushed together and subsequently covered by an impressive collection of bottles, tankards, and even a few flasks. The Chargers themselves were spread around the table. Talking. Laughing. Arguing over a card game that only two of them were even playing.

At the sound of the Iron Bull’s voice, the group’s conversations momentarily died down. Then, there was a burst of noise as they noticed Fenris. Cheers. Whoops. One man waved so vigorously that he nearly smacked the elf sitting next to him in the face.

Hawke was already feeling warm, like his uniform had somehow gotten heavier. And tighter. When the Chargers all turned to look at them, that tightness seemed to get worse. There were a lot of eyes focused on him now. Or...well. Maybe it wasn’t focused on him. They were all happy to see Fenris again. And who wouldn’t be? Fenris, for his part, was smiling. His cheeks were a little flushed though, like he hadn’t expected the excitement either.

Once all of the enthusiastic greetings had played out, Hawke found himself being introduced. That feeling of being studied got worse as he did his best to smile and remember their names. Fenris and he were quickly offered seats and drinks, and Hawke tried to stay upbeat as they unlinked their arms to settle in.

Hawke sank down into his chair and picked at the collar of his jacket. Maker, it was warm in here. How was nobody else this warm? He stole a glance at Fenris, who was saying something to the elven woman across the table from them. Not even one hair out of place. Bastard. Beautiful bastard. Fenris laughed at something the woman said to him and Hawke felt something in his chest clench. He looked away.

Things soon started to go a little blurry for Hawke. The Chargers were all friendly enough, but there were so many of them. Hawke didn’t understand any of their references, or grasp how they were all able to weave in and out of one another’s conversations so easily. Fenris was having no problem keeping up, though every now and then he’d throw a brief look of concern Hawke’s way. Hawke would simply smile back at him whenever he noticed. After all, he didn’t want to pull Fenris away from his friends just because he was feeling off.

But it was like the tavern kept getting louder. And warmer. And every time somebody said something that made Fenris laugh, Hawke felt a little stab of...something.

Finally, it all got to be too much.

Hawke leaned over close to Fenris. “I’m going to go get some air,” he murmured, and then pulled away so he could stand up. Fenris turned to look at him in confusion. Hawke was already pushing his chair back when he realized that Fenris must not have heard him.

“Hawke?” Fenris was looking at him, as were a majority of the Chargers. He’d stood up in the middle of one of the Iron Bull’s stories. Fenris started to rise from his chair, but Hawke lifted a hand and shook his head.  He pushed down his own embarrassment.

“No, no,” Hawke said. “ You stay. I just...I need a little air,” he repeated. He needed air. And quiet. And to be away from...from everybody. Hawke put on his best smile and waved to the rest of the Chargers. “It was good meeting all of you,” he said. Eyes. They were all looking at him now. Staring. What were they thinking? Without waiting for a response, Hawke turned and fled the table.

Hawke grabbed his cane and quickly made his way around to the stairs.  It would be too hard to go back down again; he wasn’t sure he could even make it across the ground floor to leave. No, if he went up, he could leave out the top door. Hawke made it to the stairs before he let himself look back. Fenris was sitting down again, and it looked like the Iron Bull was continuing his story. Hawke looked away before Fenris noticed his lingering eyes.

Hawke bit his lip and turned back to the stairs. He just hoped he hadn’t made _too_ big a fool of himself. He climbed up to the next floor as quickly as he could. Even up here, he couldn’t escape the presence of other people. There were a few small groups of them scattered about, most talking quietly. Some drinking. There was a couple taking advantage of a darkened corner. Hawke tried to ignore all of them and made his escape.

When he finally made it outside, he took a deep breath of the cold night air. Already, he felt better. Hawke sighed in relief and took stock of the battlements. Finally, he’d found somewhere that wasn’t swarming with people. Maybe it had a little to do with the breeze, or how dark it was compared to the courtyards below. It didn’t matter to Hawke; he’d walked up here enough that he knew his way.

A few minutes later, Hawke found himself standing on a familiar corner of the battlements. _This is where you met the Inquisitor,_ Varric had told him during one of their walks together. And of course Hawke could not remember it, so he had to take Varric at his word. Right now, his corner was blissfully vacant. He set his cane down and leaned against the cool stones to catch his breath.

What had happened to him back there in the tavern? Hawke looked out over the lantern-lit courtyard below and tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong. He’d let the atmosphere and the crowd overwhelm him, hadn’t he? It didn’t make sense! From what he knew, he was supposed to be a very social man. Why, then, had he felt like he’d wanted to crawl out of his own skin? He’d made a fool out of himself in front of Fenris and his friends.

Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. Defeated by a fancy party.

Hawke sighed and scratched at the back of his neck. Below, the dancers swirled in and out of one another’s paths. Hawke didn’t understand the patterns they made, but he thought the music sounded nice. He should have just asked Fenris to dance when he had the chance.

Fenris…

Jealousy. That’s what he’d been feeling back in the tavern - he’d been jealous that somebody else was making Fenris laugh. Hawke was enamored with the sound of Fenris’s laugh, and he didn’t want to share it with anybody else. It was irrational. It was stupid. And…it was the truth.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, and closed his eyes.

Hawke’s feelings for Fenris had been growing more and more each day since the elf had arrived at Skyhold. Before their meeting, it had just been a crush. Fenris had been an amazing character in a story Hawke had been reading. The fact that the story was that of Hawke’s own life had only heightened his fascination.

And then, he’d met Fenris. The _real_ Fenris.

The real Fenris was so much better than the book Fenris. He was kind and intelligent. He was funny, but he still laughed at Hawke’s bad jokes. He was beautiful. But more importantly, he was understanding.  And patient.

Fenris had been the best thing that had happened to Hawke since he’d woken up. Hawke still didn’t know who he had been before any of this, but he knew that he really must have been something. How else could he have earned the love of somebody as amazing as Fenris?

Love…

That word was scary. Was he in love with Fenris now? Hawke didn’t know. How long did it take to fall in love? Maybe he wasn’t there yet, but he was well on his way. But Fenris…

Fenris loved Garrett Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.

Not his shadow.

Hawke pushed back from the ledge with a sigh and turned his back on the courtyard. He sank down to sit on the ledge instead, not caring how cold the stone was through the fabric of his trousers. Fenris was kind and patient and understanding, but Fenris was still wishing that Hawke was different. He might try to hide it, but Hawke could still tell. Sometimes, it was the slight hesitation before Fenris reached over to touch him. It was in the way his eyes got distant and sad when he thought Hawke wasn’t looking.

Fenris wanted the old Hawke back, and Hawke couldn’t blame him. Hawke probably wanted to _be_ him again just as badly. But all the wishing in the world wasn’t going to make his old memories just suddenly reappear. The longer things went on, the less hope Hawke had that they would ever return. What would Fenris do then? What would either of them do?

Hawke didn’t have any answers. He could only hope that maybe someday, Fenris would learn to love him as well.

Down in the courtyard, the music shifted to something slow. Hawke tilted his head back to look up. Above him, the night sky was calm and clear, not a cloud in sight. The moon, nearly full, shone brightly. Did he used to know the constellations? His eyes roamed over the vast field of stars, trying to pick out familiar shapes. He had a vague notion of them - of dragons and wolves and strange ships. Maybe he’d been rubbish at constellations in his past life too.

Hawke was still staring up at the stars, lost in thought, when a lithe figure quietly descended the short set of stairs across from him.

“Enjoying the view?” Fenris asked.

Hawke’s eyes widened a little and he pulled his gaze from the stars. “Oh,” he said, startled by the sudden appearance of the elf. Fenris moved across the short landing toward Hawke, a little smile on his lips. The moonlight made his white hair practically glow, and the light from the courtyard below reflected off of his eyes. Hawke felt his breath catch in his throat. _Enjoying it much more now_ , Hawke thought to himself.

But Hawke remained silent as Fenris approached, unable to bring forth the words.

“Are you feeling better?” Fenris asked.

“Y-yes,” Hawke replied, finally able to speak. “You didn’t have to leave your friends to come after me.” Hawke stood up and dusted off his backside. His legs were stiff and he was suddenly realizing how cold he was. Maker, how long had he been staring up at the sky?

Fenris shrugged at him. “I am your escort tonight,” he replied. “I can catch up with them in the morning.” Fenris moved so he was standing next to Hawke. “Perhaps the afternoon,” he added. “I don’t believe many of them will see the morning.”

“They did have an impressive assortment of alcohol with them,” Hawke replied with a little smile. His heart was pounding now that Fenris was standing so close to him. The darker thoughts from earlier seemed to have flown right out of his head. That always seemed to happen whenever Fenris was with him.

Fenris chuckled. “They always do,” he replied. He turned his head to look down at the courtyard. Though it was getting later, the musicians were still going strong. And as long as there was music, there’d be no shortage of partygoers willing to dance. Hawke looked down as well.

“Did we dance much?” Hawke asked.

“What?”

“The two of us. Before. You said we went to parties. Did we…did we dance?” Hawke kept his eyes locked onto the dancers.

Fenris was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he finally replied. “You would insist on it, regardless of the scandal it sometimes caused.”

“Because we’re both men?” Hawke asked. He risked a glance over at Fenris. The elf’s brows were furrowed.

“Because you are a noble, and I am an elf,” Fenris said. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh,” Hawke said. “I suppose I didn’t care. I mean. I…I don’t care.”

“No, you didn’t.” Fenris’s voice was soft.

Hawke cleared his throat. “Was I any good at it? Dancing?”

“Not particularly,” Fenris chuckled. “But what you lacked in skill, you made up for in enthusiasm.”

Hawke smiled at that. Well, clearly Fenris hadn’t cared that he wasn’t a good dancer. Maybe… Hawke gathered up every bit of courage he could before he turned to face Fenris. “Care to try it now?” he asked, extending his hand.

Fenris looked at the hand, his eyebrow raised. He glanced up at Hawke’s face and Hawke wondered what he was thinking. Hawke’s nerves were screaming, though he kept up his smile as he continued to hold out his hand. Was he being stupid? Fenris probably thought so. Why had he thought this would be a good idea?? Hawke inhaled sharply when Fenris put his hand in Hawke’s.

“I will indulge you in this,” Fenris said. He pulled Hawke a little closer and reached out to gently take his other hand. “Do you remember how it goes?” he asked as he guided Hawke’s hand to his waist. He felt a thrill of excitement as Fenris put his own hand on Hawke’s shoulder.

“Not exactly,” Hawke replied, and shook his head. They were still holding hands as they adjusted - Hawke was only disappointed that they both still had their gloves on. “You just spin around a bit, right?” He grinned at Fenris, who rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry about the steps, and tell me if your leg bothers you,” Fenris said. He started to move and pulled Hawke along with him. Hawke held onto him, stumbling a little as his feet adjusted to the timing of their moves. One-two-three. One-two-three. Hawke fell into the rhythm of stepping along with Fenris, who was making it all seem so effortless. When Fenris turned them both around, Hawke followed. They turned again and Hawke found himself responding without even thinking. It was almost as if his body was remembering what it was like to be with Fenris. Now, if only his mind would follow suit.

The two of them spun in lazy circles around their private corner of the battlements. Hawke soon lost himself in the moment. The cool night air against his skin. The ease with which his feet moved along in time with Fenris. The way Fenris’s hand felt clasped with his own. Hawke’s eyes were fixed on Fenris’s face, and the way it started to relax as they danced. There was a far-off expression on the elf’s face, like he was thinking about something that made him deeply happy.

It was so easy for Hawke to imagine that all of this was real. As they danced, he let himself live that easier life for a moment, if only in his head. Hawke was himself - whole and unbroken - and he was dancing with the love of his life. The two of them were there together, just stealing a private moment in their own little world before they rejoined the party. They knew one another, and there was no uncertainty - not about their pasts, or about their future together.

Hawke ached for it.

They danced on in silence, both men lost in their own private thoughts. They slowed only when the song began to come to its end. Then they stood, still holding onto one another. Fenris seemed reluctant to let go, and Hawke had barely noticed they were no longer dancing.

They unclasped their hands. Hawke let his drop down to hold onto the other side of Fenris’s waist, while Fenris’s hand found Hawke’s shoulder. “Garrett, “ Fenris said, his voice a deep rumble. His fingers flexed, putting light pressure on both of Hawke’s shoulders.

Hawk looked down to Fenris, and for a brief moment Hawke was still that whole version of himself. Right now, he wasn’t just the shadow. And so, he let himself do what the real Hawke would do. Heart pounding, Hawke leaned in and pressed his lips to Fenris’s.

It wasn’t the best kiss. Fenris’s mouth was half-open in surprise, and Hawke had no idea what he was doing. His first and only kiss had been when Fenris had kissed him awake. Back then, he hadn’t even tried to kiss the elf in return. Now that he was the one initiating he couldn’t say he was doing much better.

Hawke had to tilt his head at the last second to avoid bumping noses with Fenris. And once he got his lips in place, he still...wasn’t sure what to do with them. But he could feel it when Fenris inhaled in surprise. And he could also feel how warm the elf’s lips were. Warm and a little moist, like he’d been licking them earlier. Hawke could also taste the wine they’d both been drinking, and the sugar of the tart Fenris had eaten.

Hawke let himself linger for a moment, but Fenris never reciprocated. It grew awkward, and Hawke felt his courage began to wither. He’d fucked up again, hadn’t he? Hawke pulled back and found Fenris staring at him, eyes wide.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” Hawke said. His voice was shaky and no louder than a whisper. Fuck. What had he been thinking? Fenris was still staring at him, his green eyes unreadable. “I just wanted…”

Hawke’s words were cut off as Fenris’s fingers dug into the fabric of his jacket. He was jerked toward Fenris, forced to lean over. _Oh_ . Fenris surged up against him, and this time it was much more than a chaste press of lips. Fenris was kissing him, _hard_. Hawke tried to mirror his movements, kissing Fenris back as best he could. What had Fenris said earlier about Hawke’s dancing? What he lacked in skill, he was going to make up for in enthusiasm.

When Fenris sucked at Hawke’s lower lip, it drew a moan from the man. Fenris quickly swallowed the moan down and then slipped his tongue into Hawke’s mouth. Hawke’s hands slid down a little, clutching at Fenris’s hips. Fenris tightened his arms around Hawke, drawing them closer together. Hawke could feel Fenris’s body against his own, even through the layers of their formalwear. Hard muscle held impossibly tight. Fenris was perfection in his arms.

Hawke tentatively let his own tongue move against Fenris’s. Fenris made a noise into their kiss and Hawke did it again. He pushed back against Fenris, swiping his tongue into the elf’s mouth this time. He could taste the wine and sugar again, as well as something else. Maybe that was just the taste of Fenris. Maker, it was good. Everything was _good_.

One of Fenris’s hands moved up the back of Hawke’s head, his gloved fingers threading through Hawke’s thick hair. They pulled lightly and Hawke whimpered into the kiss.

How long they stood there kissing, Hawke couldn’t say. Time had lost all its meaning. The only thing Hawke cared about now was the way Fenris felt in his arms. The way their tongues moved, hot and slick. The way Hawke was already half-hard and pressed up against Fenris, who was just as aroused.

They both had to breathe though. And so they eventually pulled back from the kiss, both of them panting and flushed. Fenris let his head drop to rest his forehead against Hawke’s shoulder. His hand gently smoothed down Hawke’s hair.

“Wow,” Hawke shakily said. He kept his hands on Fenris’s hips. “That was...I…Wow.”

Fenris let out a soft sigh and held tightly to Hawke’s shoulder. His face was still hidden, though Hawke could hear how heavily he was still breathing. There was a slight tremble to him.

“Fenris?” Hawke felt a pang of worry. “Everything okay?”

Fenris took a deep breath and pulled his head back. He looked up at Hawke. “I should not have done that,” he said. His fingers loosened their hold on Hawke’s jacket.

“Wh-what?” Hawke stared at him. Done what? Kissed him like that? Hadn’t Fenris enjoyed it too?

“I am sorry,” Fenris said softly. “We...we should not do that again.” He was pulling away from Hawke slowly.

“Wait. Why?” Hawke held onto him. “Why not? Didn’t you like it? I mean, you seemed like you did. And I know that I...I did.” Hawke felt something bubbling up inside of him. It was happening again, wasn’t it? He was the shadow again.

“I did,” Fenris replied. “But it isn’t fair to either of us.”

“Why?”

“Because you are...you are not…”

“Because I’m not _him_ ,” Hawke spat. Fenris’s eyes widened and Hawke let go of him. Hawke felt tears starting to burn at the corners of his eyes. Shit.

Fenris didn’t try to correct him. It was the truth, wasn’t it? “Hawke,” he said after a moment. He reached up to gently touch Hawke’s cheek.

“What does it matter?” Hawke demanded. “I’m here, and _I_ wanted to kiss you because _I_ like you.”

Fenris looked at him, eyes full of sorrow. He stroked Hawke’s cheek. “I know,” he said. “But things are not as simple as that. I cannot...I cannot be with you. Not in that way.” He shook his head and there was so much pain written across his face that it almost made Hawke forget his own.

“Why?” Hawke asked. He wanted to reach out and touch Fenris in return. He didn’t.

Fenris took a shaky breath and Hawke could see how his lips were trembling. He could also see how they were slightly swollen and still wet.

“ _Why_??” Hawke repeated.

Fenris glanced to the side, unable to meet Hawke’s eyes. “Because you are not him,” he said softly.

Hawke’s stomach dropped. He stepped back, pulling away from Fenris’s hands. The tears threatened to spill over then. So, it was just as he thought, wasn’t it? Fenris was patient and understanding and kind. But Fenris would always love somebody else. Hawke was stupid for hoping for anything more.

“Hawke,” Fenris said. He looked wounded, like he’d regretted the words as soon as they’d come out.

Hawke didn’t care. He took another step back, then another. He turned away then, and fled for the stairs. His legs protested as he hurried up much faster than he should have. If he fell, he fell.

“Garrett,” Fenris called. “ _Wait!_ ”

Hawke didn’t look back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com).


	22. Somebody Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started posting this fic a year ago today. WOW.
> 
> Honestly, this is the longest I've stuck with a project. Thank you to everybody who takes the time to read this!! And to everybody who leaves Kudos or Comments: Thank you all so much. You're the ones I'm going to finish this for. Some day.
> 
> PS: I'm going to get to your comments on the previous chapter ASAP. I just...have no brain as of posting this chapter. ♡

Fenris watched as Hawke stumbled up the stairs and fled across the battlements. His stomach was sick with worry and regret, and he ached to run after the man. He held himself still though, his heart pounding as Hawke disappeared from sight.

_ Because you are not him. _

_ Kaffas _ , how could he have said something so cruel? So careless? He winced at the memory, still fresh. It was the truth, but it was such an over- simplification. No wonder his words had wounded Hawke. There was no way Hawke could have understood!

That was their whole problem - there were just so many things that Hawke didn’t comprehend, and Fenris wasn’t sure how to explain any of them. He didn’t know where to even start! True, he’d shared almost everything with Hawke in the past, but they’d had years together. It had happened organically as they both got to know one other. Now things were just...more complicated.

Fenris was still very much in love with the old Garrett Hawke, but he was also very fond of this one. They weren’t that different, not really. And that had been the problem for Fenris tonight. Hawke had looked so handsome, and while they were dancing Fenris had found it so easy to slip back and pretend that things were as they should be. They were together. Close. Happy.

And then Hawke had kissed him. It hadn’t been a good kiss, but that hadn’t mattered to Fenris. It was  _ Hawke _ . And the way the man had pulled back to apologize had been so painfully familiar. In a moment of weakness, Fenris had kissed him in return.

_ That _ had been a good kiss. The smell of him. The taste of him. The feel of his beard. The soft sounds he made when Fenris used his teeth…  _ Fuck _ . Fenris had missed it all. He felt warm just thinking about it now, and fuck! His cock was still half-hard.

Fenris gritted his teeth. He’d  _ had _ to put a stop to it, or else risk doing something stupid. While the two of them had been growing closer, Fenris knew their relationship was still fragile and new. Kissing was...too complicated.  _ Anything  _ physical between them was complicated.

Fenris let out a frustrated groan and stalked up the stairs. For a moment, he considered trying to follow Hawke. He had a feeling the man was running back to his room. If not, he knew a lot of hiding places Hawke might try - hiding places that Fenris himself had shared. But...no.

Fenris needed to give Hawke space right now. In fact, Fenris probably needed that space just as much. He’d just have to wait until the morning. Then, he would go visit Hawke and they could talk things over. Right? Well before that, Fenris needed to decide what he was even going to say. How was he going to fix this?

Fenris wasn’t sure yet; he would just have to think of something.

  


* * *

  


The sun was rising and Fenris hadn’t come up with any solutions. He also hadn’t gotten much sleep at all, and was pacing nervously around his room. He’d managed to change out of his stuffy Inquisition uniform and was back in his familiar tunic and leggings. Was it too early to go to Hawke?  _ Damn! _ All these years later and here he was again,  pacing and worrying over what he was going to say to Hawke. He ran a hand through his hair, and grumbled to himself.

 This wasn’t working. The longer he waited, the more testy and on edge he felt. Fenris was just going to have to go to Hawke and say something. _Anything_.

 ‘Sorry’ was probably a decent start.

 Fenris pulled his hair back and tied it off. Good enough. He left his room and went down the short hallway that led to Hawke’s. It was just after six, and there was nobody else in sight. It really was too early, wasn’t it? Probably. Right now, Fenris didn’t care.

 He quickly arrived at Hawke’s room and knocked lightly on the door. No answer. It was no surprise; Hawke never got up this early. Fenris tried the door handle and found it unlocked. He quietly let himself into the room and shut it behind him.

 The room was dark. The fire had burnt out in the grate and the thick curtains were blocking out the early morning sunlight. Fenris carefully made his way over and parted just a crack. He could hear Hawke’s even breathing coming from the bed behind him.

 “Hawke,” Fenris said, his voice surprisingly loud in the dim room. He winced and felt a momentary flash of guilt at waking the man. He pushed it back and moved closer to the bed. “Hawke.”

 Nothing.

 Fenris leaned down and gently touched Hawke’s shoulder. “Hawke, wake up.”

 Hawke lay there, still quietly breathing. Fenris frowned. He gave Hawke’s shoulder a little shake and his frown deepened when there was no reaction. “Hawke?” Another shake, and nothing from Hawke.

 Fenris felt panic starting to rise within him. Hawke was a heavy sleeper, but this seemed unnatural. Fenris pulled away and hurried back to the window. He threw open the curtains and the room was suddenly filled with warm golden light.

 “Hawke,” he said, and returned to the bed. He leaned in and shook him again. He wasn’t faking sleep this time, was he? “Please, wake up.”

 A breath in. A breath out. Nothing more. This was no trick on Hawke’s part.

 “Garrett!” Fenris was practically shouting now. Panic had taken over and was surging through him. Hawke had been in an enchanted sleep before, and no amount of shaking or shouting was rousing him now. Had Hawke somehow slipped back into it last night??

 Fenris clutched at the fabric of Hawke’s shirt and leaned in close. He let his forehead rest against Hawke’s and took a shaky breath. Beneath him, Hawke was still sleeping. “Wake up,” Fenris said softly, his voice betraying his worry.

 Fenris tilted his head and pressed his lips to Hawke’s. As ill-advised as it probably was, it was all he could think to do. It was all he _wanted_ to do _._ Fenris kissed the sleeping man softly, hoping that he would open his eyes like he had last time.

 Nothing.

 Fenris pulled away after a moment. What should he do? He inhaled and tried to focus. The healer. He needed to find the healer.

 “I’ll be back,” Fenris said, smoothing down Hawke’s shirt. “You will wake.” His hand moved up and gently caressed Hawke’s bearded cheek. “And then we will talk.” Fenris pulled back and took one last look at Hawke before he hurried from the room.

  


* * *

  


Finding the healer was harder than Fenris had expected. When he arrived at the infirmary, he found two apprentices and quite a few miserable guests sporting hangovers.  _ The party _ . In his panic, Fenris had forgotten all about last night’s event. Of course the castle would still be recovering.

“He’s not here this morning,” was the answer Fenris got from the apprentice he’d pulled aside. “If it isn’t urgent, Serah, I’m afraid there’s a wait.” She gestured to the small crowd of miserable guests.

“It is urgent,” Fenris replied. “But I require Surana. Where is he?”

 “He’s not on duty this morning,” she repeated, clearly growing impatient. “What is the problem?”

 “I understand he is not here.” Fenris was trying to remain calm. “But I need him, and _only_ him.”

 The apprentice looked like she was about to argue, but there must have been something about Fenris’s demeanor that gave her pause. She looked to her fellow mage, who was busy administering a potion to a noblewoman. He shrugged to her in return.

 “Fine,” she sighed.

  


* * *

  


The apprentice ended up giving him directions to Surana’s private quarters. It was in a wing that Fenris wasn’t as familiar with, so he had to do a little searching. All of the doors were shut as he padded his way down the corridor. He counted to himself until he came to the sixth door on the left. This was it.

Fenris leaned in to look at at the wood just above the door’s handle, just as the apprentice had instructed. Aha. There it was! Small and unassuming, the symbol for ‘healing’ was carved into the wood. It was just enough of a sign for people seeking him out, but not so large that it robbed him of his privacy.

Well. So much for privacy…

Fenris knocked on the door. He paused and waited for a response. Nothing. He grimaced and knocked again. “Surana,” he called. “Surana, it’s Fenris. I have need of you! It’s Hawke.” Fenris knew he was probably disturbing the others sleeping nearby, but he didn’t care. Instead, he kept knocking.

“Hold on,” a muffled voice suddenly called out from inside. Fenris pulled his hand back from the door and waited. After a moment, he heard movement. There was the sound of a latch being undone, then the door handle turned.

Surana opened the door to his room and blinked owlishly at Fenris. His long hair was a tangled mess and he was wearing what Fenris assumed was a loose dressing robe. There were purple-red marks scattered across his neck and throat that led Fenris to believe he hadn’t returned from the party alone last night. And from the way Surana glanced over his shoulder into the room, Fenris assumed his guest hadn’t gotten around to leaving. Fenris was still too worried about Hawke to be properly embarrassed about intruding.

“What is it?” Surana asked, pushing some of his hair back. “Something is wrong with Hawke?” He cleared his throat and squinted at Fenris.

“Yes,” Fenris replied. “He will not wake.”

Surana blinked at him. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“He sleeps, and will not wake,” Fenris replied, feeling a tick of annoyance. Why was the healer staring at him like that??

“Oh. So, you’ve tried rousing him and he doesn’t respond? Is there anything else worrisome beyond that?”

“It is not worrying enough?” Fenris demanded.

Surana looked back at him, eyebrow raised. “He’s not floating, is he? Causing things to move around?”

Fenris paused. Oh. Well, he supposed that would have been a little worse then, wouldn’t it? “No,” he replied. “He just...will not wake up. I shook him and called out to him, but...” Fenris’s face must have betrayed his worry because Surana’s expression softened.

“You were both out late for the party, weren’t you? What time did you go back to his room?” Surana asked.

Fenris bristled. “He returned to his room after midnight,” Fenris said. The  _ alone _ was implied.  “I went to see him first thing this morning.”

Surana nodded and made a face. “And it’s what? Just after seven now?”

“Six,” Fenris replied. “About half past six.”

Surana groaned and rubbed at his face. “Mm. Of course it is.” He sighed and tried to run a hand through his hair, but it was too tangled. “If he took his draught that late, then he won’t wake up until after eight,” he said lightly, like it was something that Fenris should have figured out on his own.

“What draught?” Fenris asked, eyes narrowed. What was the healer talking about?

Surana paused, hand stuck halfway through his hair. He looked at Fenris in surprise and confusion. “His...sleeping draught?” Fenris was looking back at him, just as confused. What did he mean by that?

“Oh,” Surana said. “I…” He frowned and carefully pulled his fingers out of his hair. “Wait here a moment, please,” he said, and ducked back into his room.

Fenris frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. The door was not quite shut so he could hear Surana speaking to somebody, though his words were muffled. There was a rich masculine laugh that was definitely not Surana’s, then more talking Fenris couldn’t make out. Fenris took a step back and hoped it didn’t look like he was trying to eavesdrop.

After another moment, Surana emerged from his room again. He looked a little more put together this time – his hair was pulled back and looked partially brushed, and he was wearing a loose blue tunic and leather trousers. Fenris tried not to stare; had he ever seen the healer wearing something other than robes?

“All right,” Surana said, looking to him. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed the look he was getting from Fenris. “Let’s take a little walk, shall we?”

Fenris pursed his lips and nodded. He was eager to understand what Surana had been talking about. A sleeping draught? Why was Hawke taking those? And more importantly, why hadn’t he mentioned it to Fenris??

“So,” Surana said as they walked. “Hawke hasn’t told you then?”

“Told me what?” Fenris asked, frowning.

“About his nightmares,” Surana replied. “They’re the reason he’s been taking potions to sleep.”

“No…” Fenris said. He thought back to the time he’d overheard Surana and Hawke discussing Hawke’s dreams. He hadn’t thought much of it then. “Is he not dreaming as all mages do?” 

“He is,” Surana nodded. “It’s terrifying at first, and most of us go through during childhood. So, I thought that…perhaps Hawke is just having trouble re-adjusting to them. Since he has the powers of a fully grown mage, but the training of a child.”

Fenris frowned. He didn’t enjoy that comparison; it was something he’d briefly thought of, but had tried not to dwell on. “Young mages are vulnerable to possession,” Fenris replied. He looked to Surana, who was frowning. “Are you saying that he–”

“No,” Surana replied quickly. “Not exactly, anyway. I’ve been working with him, and he responds well enough to training. It’s just…” Surana sighed. They had entered a different wing of the castle, one that Fenris recognized. They were going back to Hawkes room, weren’t they?

“Just what?” Fenris asked gruffly.

“I don’t know,” Surana said.

“What?”

“I don’t know what to make of his dreams. They aren’t the dreams of a new mage,” Surana said. “It’s beyond anything I’ve dealt with before. The whole situation is, really.”  Fenris thought that there was a note of petulance to his voice. He was frustrated, wasn’t he?

“Of course,” Fenris sighed. What was one more mystery added onto the pile? “How are his dreams strange?” he asked.

“He believes he is being followed by something. But it is the same thing each time he dreams. If it is a single demon, it’s very odd that he’s pulled one’s focus so quickly,” Surana explained. “I can tell that it makes Hawke anxious. Fearful. He doesn’t wish to discuss the Fade in much detail.”

Fenris frowned. Of course it was making him anxious. There was a demon stalking his dreams! Hawke used to know how to deal with such things, but now… No wonder he was unsettled. But something else was bothering Fenris. Why was Hawke telling the healer all of this, and not him? Did he not trust Fenris??

“Hawke hasn’t spoken of this to me,” he said.

“I gathered as much,” Surana replied softly. “I’d rather not speculate too much on his reasoning. But…I think he’s afraid to speak of it.”

Fenris let out a soft sigh. They’d just turned down the hall that led to Hawke’s room. They were silent as they approached his door. Fenris was mulling over Surana’s words. The healer pushed the door open and beckoned for Fenris to enter. He stepped into the room, still lit by the morning sun. Hawke breathed evenly from under his covers, just as Fenris had left him.

“Why did you escort me back here?” Fenris asked, slowly moving toward the bed. Surana could have just as easily explained everything outside his door.

Surana shrugged and went to the head of Hawke’s bed. He leaned in and pressed a hand to the sleeping mage’s forehead. “Because it would be remiss of me and my duties as a healer not to at least examine him, given your concerns.” He pulled his hand away and turned to the nightstand. He picked up a small vial and looked it over as Fenris curiously watched.

“And?” Fenris murmured.

“And,” Surana said. “He took his sleeping draught and knocked himself out. He’ll wake on his own in a few hours.” He offered Fenris a little smile and gave the empty bottle a little shake. “You look like you could use a little sleep yourself,” he added.

Fenris frowned. “I’ll manage,” he replied.

“I’m sure you will.” Surana pocketed the empty vial. “I’m sorry I don’t have more answers for you, Fenris. ...though, I’m sure you’re sick of me saying that.” He sighed.

“The fault doesn’t lie with you,” Fenris shrugged.

“Still…”

“A question, healer,” Fenris said. “This thing that is haunting Hawke’s dreams - could there be a connection to his lost memories?”

“I’ve considered the possibility,” Surana replied. “But such a thing is outside my realm of experience,” he admitted with a little grimace.

“Are you not a…a spirit healer?” Fenris had to stop himself from saying  _ abomination _ at first. Oh, he knew how the mage in front of him accessed his power. For the most part, Fenris tried to put it out of his mind. But now…well, shouldn’t consorting with ‘spirits’ give Surana more useful knowledge of the Fade??

“I am,” Surana said with a wry smile. “But, well… I suppose it’s more accurate to say it’s outside of  _ our _ realm of experience. Diligence is just as perplexed as I am.”

Fenris’s brow furrowed as he tried to resist the overwhelming wave of frustration that was rushing over him. All he wanted were answers!  _ Venhedis _ , he would settle for a clearly defined problem! Then he could just find the solution himself. He watched the rise and fall of Hawke’s chest as he slept.

“I should probably leave you two alone then,” Surana said, breaking Fenris out of his daze.

“What?” Fenris turned his head to look at the other elf.

“Me. Leaving. Hawke will wake up in a few hours and you look like you should get some sleep in the meantime. So, I’m going to go.” Surana pointed to the door.

“Oh,” Fenris said. “I…thank you, Surana.” He didn’t want to admit how good a nap sounded right about now.

“Of course,” Surana replied with a little nod. “Tell Hawke I’ll see him tomorrow for his usual check-up. Until then, unless he’s floating again or has grown another head…I’m off duty.”

Surana smiled at Fenris, who glanced again at the still-visible bruises on the healer’s neck. Ah, yes. Fenris quirked his lips up in a little smirk. “I understand,” he said.

“Excellent,” Surana replied, and made his way to the door. “Take care of yourself, Fenris.”

And with that, the healer was gone. As the door shut behind him, Fenris let out a breathy sigh. So…that was that, wasn’t it? He looked to Hawke, still asleep, and then to the large chair near the window. Now that the adrenaline from earlier had worked its way out of his system, he was feeling drained. 

Fenris went over to the window and pulled the curtains closed again. There was no use in letting the morning sun stream in here just yet, was there? The room was dim now, with only a little light leaking in through the cracks. Satisfied, Fenris moved to the chair and took a seat.

He would just rest here until Hawke woke up, and then they could have their talk. It was easier than returning to his own room. He pulled his legs up to his chest and angled himself sideways so he could lean back into the chair. It wasn’t that bad… In fact, it was rather comfortable. Was this a good idea? He let out a sigh and decided not to worry about it.

Fenris closed his eyes. The room was dark, the chair was comfortable, and the sound of Hawke’s breathing put him at ease. It would just be so easy to…

Fenris drifted away.

  


* * *

  


They were dancing again. Spinning. Faster this time. Hawke was more sure, more confident. He smiled at Fenris and Fenris found himself smiling in return. Hawke looked good; his beard was fuller and the bags under his eyes had vanished. And his smile…

As they spun, Fenris realized he didn’t know where they were. Above, the stars were twinkling in the vast expanse of night sky. Or was it a ceiling? Were they candles? One spin. It was the battlements. Another spin. It was an Orlesian-style ballroom. Another spin. It was Hawke’s room back in Kirkwall.

Fenris looked to Hawke instead. It didn’t matter where they were. Hawke was smiling at him, his hand warm where it touched Fenris’s back.

“Fenris?”

What?

They turned, shifting to music that Fenris couldn’t quite hear. Had somebody said something? Hawke didn’t act like he’d heard it.

“Fen…”

Fenris pulled his gaze away from Hawke and tried to look behind him. The room around them was blurry. Was it even a room? Fenris blinked as a figure suddenly came into focus. What…

Tall. Clad in leather, metal, and fur. Ragged. Worn. Bloody. Glowing golden eyes burned at him from a face that was lined with pain. Familiar eyes...

_ Hawke _ .

  


* * *

  


Fenris jolted awake. He uncurled so fast that he nearly fell out of the chair. What had that dream been?? Already, parts of it were growing hazy. He could still see Hawke’s eyes boring into him though. Carefully, he shifted around, leaning back into the chair so he was sitting in it normally. The room was brighter, and he had a horrible crick in his neck.  _ Venhedis _ , he hadn’t meant to fall asleep like that. How long had he been…

Fenris looked to the bed, suddenly remembering why he’d curled up in this chair in the first place. Hawke was sitting with his back to the headboard, and looking right back at him. Fuck! Fenris straightened up even more and cleared his throat. “Garrett,” he said.

“Fenris,” Hawke said. He was frowning. He looked away from Fenris and glanced over at the window. The curtains had been parted again, though just enough to let a little sliver of light in. Hawke must have been up for a little while, and it seemed he’d taken care not to disturb Fenris while he slept. Fenris hoped that was a good sign.

“I apologize,” Fenris said. “I did not mean to fall asleep.”

Hawke shrugged. “Why are you here?” he asked, still looking away. His voice was even. Flat.

“I…” Fenris paused. Should he explain his initial visit, and the panicked flight to find the healer? Fenris’s brow furrowed in consternation. No, none of that was important right now. “I wanted to apologize,” he said, pulling himself out of the chair.

“You just did,” Hawke replied with a sigh.

“Not for that,” Fenris said, approaching the bed. He lingered at the edge of it, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “For last night.”

“Why?” Hawke asked. “You just told me the truth.” He was looking away from Fenris, his tone still flat and defeated.

“Hawke,” Fenris said, frowning. “What I said…I should not have said it. Not like that.” When Hawke didn’t respond, Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply. “It is not the whole truth.”

Hawke was looking at him now, a guarded expression on his face. “I don’t understand,” he replied.

Fenris exhaled. “It is…not a simple matter.” He gestured to the edge of the bed. “May I sit?” When Hawke nodded, Fenris carefully took a seat. His body was turned so he was facing the other man. Fenris’s mouth was dry, and he felt vaguely ill. He was flying blind right now, not sure how he was supposed to fix this. Maybe there wasn’t a way. Still, he had to try.

“I…what you know of me, you learned from Varric’s book. From stories, from Varric himself, from what little time we’ve spent together,” Fenris began. He waited for Hawke to respond, but the man only gave a little nod. There was a sour expression on his face.

“I do not wish to minimize what feelings you may have for me,” Fenris quickly added. “I just…” He trailed off, grasping for the right words. “I am not an easy man to be with,” Fenris admitted as he closed his eyes.

“I didn’t care before, did I? So I don’t care now,” Hawke replied. He was pouting a bit, wasn’t he?

“I know,” Fenris replied. He was back on a bit of familiar ground; the two of them had discussed this matter in the past. Hawke had taken that same petulant tone at times. Fenris stopped himself from smiling at the memory. Instead, he opened his eyes and looked to Hawke. “I know who you were before this. And I have a good idea of who you are now, and who you could be again, in time.”

Fenris leaned in and reached out for Hawke, who was frozen. Hawke’s eyes widened when Fenris’s hand found his cheek. “We had years together,” Fenris said, his heart beating a little faster at the feeling of Hawke’s warm skin beneath his fingers. “It took years to untangle myself. You helped me as I did, and we grew close. I cannot just…retell you all that you once learned on your own.” Fenris shook his head.

“I am difficult. There are things within me that are unpleasant. Hard. Things that I cannot just…speak of,” Fenris continued. As he gently caressed Hawke’s cheek, Hawke reached up and carefully put his hand on top of Fenris’s. “I tell myself that you do not know them now, so I must tread carefully. For both our sakes.”

Hawke was staring at him, mouth slightly agape. It was endearing.

“It is not easy for me to reconcile who you were before with who you are now,” Fenris admitted.

“That makes two of us,” Hawke said with a sigh.

Fenris couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. “I should not laugh,” he said, though that didn’t stop him. He shook his head and tried to sober up. Hawke’s fingers were entwined with his own now. “You are not the same Garrett Hawke I loved.” It was hard to get the words out, and he felt Hawke begin to pull away. “Wait,” he said, and squeezed his fingers so Hawke’s hand was held in place. He leaned forward and put his other hand on Hawke’s opposite cheek. “Wait.” He looked Hawke square in the eye.

“What I mean is that I loved you before, and I care for you now. But you are not him. Not  _ yet _ .” Fenris closed the distance and pressed a soft kiss to Hawke’s forehead. He could feel Hawke shaking under his touch.

“Wh-what does that mean?” Hawke asked, his voice trembling.

“It means…” Fenris said, pulling back to look at Hawke. His lips tingled from the kiss. “It means that we need to be more patient. And…more open. I have been closing myself off. Keeping what I feel to myself.” Fenris shook his head. “It hasn’t done us much good.”

“I’m sorry I kissed you,” Hawke blurted out. “And then stormed off like I did. I just…it’s…it’s so hard sometimes. And I just really wanted it. Really bad.” He winced.

“Don’t apologize,” Fenris said, giving him a firm look. “I kissed you in return. And then…I hurt  you.” He frowned. “I am sorry for what I said, but not for the kiss. Not now.”

“It was…it was pretty good,” Hawke said with a little smile. Some of the weight between them had lifted.

“I know,” Fenris replied. “Truthfully, it scared me because I did not want to stop. That was why I said we could do no more - we are not ready for that.” It felt good to get it out in the open. While he was fond of Hawke now, they were in no way ready for  _ that _ level of intimacy.  That was the disappointing truth of it.

“Ready for what?” Hawke asked, blinking.

Fenris stared at him. “Sex, Garrett. We are not ready for sex.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “Oh. OH. I. Ohhh, Maker.  _ That _ .”

Fenris groaned and let go of Hawke’s face. He leaned forward and buried his own face against Hawke’s shoulder. The casual intimacy of it wasn’t lost on Fenris, though he was too busy trying to smother himself to celebrate it too much.

“I thought you meant like…you couldn’t be with me in general,” Hawke babbled. “No more  _ us _ . Like. You didn’t want to be around me anymore. And it was just…oh, Maker. You were just talking about the  _ kissing _ .”

_ What _ ? Hawke had truly thought Fenris was cutting him off, just like that? Fenris groaned again and pulled away from Hawke’s shoulder after a moment. Hawke really  _ hadn’t _ understood. And apparently Fenris had been just as clueless to how Hawke was feeling. “Hawke, I was a few more kisses away from dropping to my knees for you,” Fenris said. “I had to put a stop to it.”

“What?” Hawke squawked. His face was bright red.

Fenris hid his face again, this time in his own hands. He was already cursing himself for agreeing to be more open.  _ Kaffas _ .

“Fenris, you can’t just…just say that. Like that.” Hawke was back to babbling again. “I mean. I’m…I’m delicate. I’d never think of that at all, and you just  _ say _ it?? Virgin ears here!”

“Virgin ears?” Fenris repeated, and looked up at  _ that _ . Garrett Hawke using the word ‘virgin’ in reference to  _ himself _ . Though it was true, wasn’t it? Still… Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Call yourself whatever you want, Hawke. I know how your mind works, and I assure you there is nothing virginal in _ there _ .”

Hawke stared at him, mouth left open in surprise. Then, he began to laugh. It lit up his entire face and made Fenris feel warm inside. Fenris joined him after a moment, allowing himself a good-natured chuckle. He was still close to Hawke, almost leaning against him.

After a moment, the laughing fit passed and Hawke was left with pink cheeks and a sheepish expression. “Are we…are we better now?” he asked.

“I hope so,” Fenris replied. He let himself sink the rest of the way down until he was stretched out on the bed right next to Hawke. He could trust himself to do this now. They could be this comfortable again.

“G-good,” Hawke said with a little nod. “So. Patience. And openness. And I get to know you. Again. Naturally.”

“Yes,” Fenris nodded. “We do not rush.”

“No,” Hawke replied. “No rushing through anything. So, no sex.”

“Correct,” Fenris chuckled.

“And…kisses? Do those fall somewhere on the sex scale?” Hawke asked, sounding hopeful.

“They are negotiable,” Fenris replied with a little smile. He thought he could trust himself to kiss Hawke every now and then. Perhaps not right now… Not while they were sharing this bed.

“Got it,” Hawke nodded. “I guess all I need to ask now is…what’s going to happen? What if I never remember anything?”

Fenris’s smile faded away. There it was - the question he still didn’t know the answer to. He paused and tilted his head to look up at Hawke. “I don’t know,” he said. “I wish that I had an answer. But…”

Fenris held his right hand up so both of them could see it. Hawke’s red favor was tied in its rightful place around his wrist. “You gave this to me once,” he said softly. He’d told Hawke that story already, filling in the blanks that Varric’s book had left out. Hawke reached up and gently touched the edge of the favor.

“It was a promise - one you made to me. One that I made in return, though I didn’t know it at the time.” He held his hand still while Hawke’s fingertips brushed over his skin. “You waited for me, though you did not know if I would ever be ready to return.”

“I must have had faith,” Hawke murmured.

“You were faithful to a fault,” Fenris replied with a little smile. “There were times I thought you would find somebody else, but…you never did.” He shook his head.

“So I was right to wait, in the end,” Hawke replied.

“You were,” Fenris agreed. “Here.” He pulled his hand away from Hawke and brought his other hand up. He removed the ring he’d been wearing around his thumb and held it closer for Hawke to see.

“This is yours,” Fenris explained. “It was a gift I gave to you before everything went wrong in Kirkwall. It was a promise of my own, to you…” He waited for Hawke to reach out with a shaking hand. “They found it on the ground, near the Rift you came out of. Varric kept it safe. And now I…I want you to have it again.”

“It’s…” Hawke was holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. He was staring at it like it was so much more than a band of silver with a chip of ruby set in it.

“It’s a promise,” Fenris replied. “This time, I will be the one who waits.”

Hawke took a breath and immediately slid it onto his ring finger. It still fit. “Fenris, I…th-thank you.” His eyes were watering and he had to sniffle.

Fenris smiled back at him.

“B-but what if…what if the man you’re waiting for never comes back?” Hawke asked. It was the same question he’d just asked only moments before. Still, it was haunting them both.

Fenris looked at the ring, back where it belonged, and much to his surprise he realized he had an answer for Hawke. He’d known the answer all along, hadn’t he? Fenris gave him a meaningful look.

“Then perhaps I will be the one to find somebody else,” Fenris said, then reached up and took Hawke’s hand in his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com).


	23. A New Approach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay!

The main hall of Skyhold was warm, quiet, and comfortably uncrowded. Morning light filtered in from the windows behind the throne, casting colors through the stainglass panes. Three days had passed since Fenris’s heartfelt conversation with Hawke, and this morning found him well-rested and on a mission.

Fenris spotted his target in the middle of the hall, sitting a table that was covered with the remains of breakfast and a stack of papers. Enough guests had departed over the past few days that Adaar was finally eating his breakfast in public again. Fenris knew the Inquisitor liked to be accessible in the morning. Well, accessible to a point. As Fenris approached, Adaar picked at one of his horns and then began to tidy his pile of papers.

“Inquisitor,” Fenris said. Adaar straightened and looked up at him.

“Oh, Fenris,” Adaar said, and raised a hand in greeting. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Fenris repeated. He stood across the table from Adaar, careful to give the Inquisitor his space. “Do you have a moment? I do not wish to intrude, but I was hoping to speak with you.”

Adaar looked thoughtful as he picked at his horn again. Fenris could see that there were still flakes of gold leaf stuck to them. “Mm. Yes,” Adaar finally said. “I have a meeting soon, but if I go now, we’ll have some time to talk before it begins.” He flashed Fenris a smile and looked down at his papers again.

“If it is too much trouble…” Fenris frowned. He knew how busy Adaar was with his duties. And while Fenris thought it was important, he knew in the scheme of things it could probably wait.

“It isn’t,” Adaar replied with a wave of his hand. “We’ll just talk and walk a bit. I’ve gotten good at that.” He chuckled, then paused to look up again. “Have you had breakfast yet?” Adaar asked, and gestured to the table. Fenris chuckled as the Inquisitor quickly realized he was offering plates of food that were cold and half-eaten. “Er. I can get some more…”

“No, thank you,” Fenris chuckled. “I have eaten.” He’d had an early breakfast with Hawke in his room.

“Oh, good!” Adaar replied with a grin. He stood up from this chair and brushed some lingering crumbs from the front of his leather jerkin. “Let me just grab my papers here and we can go have a chat.” He picked up his stack of documents and gave the table one last look.

“May I assist you?” Fenris asked. He felt guilty for interrupting Adaar’s breakfast and cutting it short.

“Hm? Oh, no. I think I’ve got it all,” Adaar replied. “Unfortunately.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wish I could just toss it all over the wall outside, but...well. If it’s not an ancient darkspawn magister giving me trouble, it’s bureaucracy. It never ends...”

Fenris snorted at that. Hawke had expressed a similar sentiment in the past, back when he was in Kirkwall and drowning in invitations from nobles.

“I’m glad my suffering can bring somebody some joy,” Adaar said. His morose tone was betrayed by the smile he couldn’t quite hide. “Well, c’mon then. Let’s get going.” He stepped away from the table and gestured for Fenris to follow.

“We’re just heading to the war room,” Adaar explained as they crossed the hall. Fenris had to walk a little faster to keep up with the Inquisitor’s long strides. “You know, Fenris, Varric has been keeping me updated on Hawke, and on you as well. I’m sorry that I haven’t been around to...well. See how things are myself.”

Fenris knew that Adaar would drop in to check on Hawke from time to time. From what Hawke had told him, Adaar hadn’t been by quite as much since Fenris had arrived at Skyhold. “You have many duties,” Fenris replied. He moved to open the door for Adaar. “I am grateful for everything you’ve done for us as it is. You brought Hawke back here, and have given us both a place to stay.”

Adaar went through the door and Fenris followed. They walked down the hall that passed by his ambassador’s desk. The woman, Josephine, was absent. Adaar paused for a second. “I...you’re welcome,” he said. “I mean. Really though, you don’t need to thank me. It’s the least I could do for him. And for you.” He began to walk again.

“I’m glad you both seem to be doing well. You look better, Fenris. Happier,” Adaar said. “And Hawke too. Though I…” He frowned as they paused at the door that led to the war room. “I’m still sorry there doesn’t seem to be much we can do to help with his memory.”

Fenris took a breath and opened the next door for Adaar. And there it was already - Fenris’s reason for bothering the Inquisitor today. Ever since his talk with Surana, Fenris hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Hawke’s strange nightmares and the demon haunting him. He’d brought it up with Hawke himself yesterday, and it was their conversation that had finally convinced Fenris to seek out the Inquisitor.

 

* * *

 

“I saw Surana for a check-up this morning,” Hawke said. He was reclined on his bed, leaning back against the headboard. A book lay open in his lap.

“Mm?” Fenris looked up from beside him. He was on his belly, stretched out on the other half of the bed. His own book was propped up on a pillow in front of him.

“Surana. I saw him this morning for a check-up,” Hawke repeated.

“Yes,” Fenris replied. He marked his place in his book and turned on his side so he could better look up at Hawke. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Hawke replied with a shake of his head. “He just...he told me that he let you know about the sleeping draughts I’ve been taking.”

“Ah,” Fenris frowned. “Yes...he did.” Fenris had been waiting for Hawke to come out and admit it to him on his own. The longer Hawke kept it to himself, the more disappointed Fenris grew.

“Shit,” Hawke said, and closed his book with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Fenris. I...I know I should have told you myself,” he said. “After we said we’d be more open and everything. Here I am…” Hawke frowned and set the book aside. “Doing the exact opposite.”

Fenris sighed and gave Hawke a firm look. “I will accept your apology if you explain why you did not tell me sooner,” Fenris replied.

Hawke slid downwards, wriggling and scooting until he was lying on his back next to Fenris. He stared up at the ceiling, his cheeks tinted pink. “I was embarrassed. And scared and frustrated,” he said. “And...and I didn’t want to make you worry anymore than you already are.” He turned his head to look at Fenris. Well, Hawke seemed sincere enough...

Fenris sighed and reached over to smooth some of Hawke’s hair back from his brow. Hawke closed his eyes and tilted his head into the touch. Fenris understood why Hawke had done it, and honestly Fenris _was_ worried by Hawke’s dreams. He couldn’t hold it against Hawke.

“Sorry for keeping it from you,” Hawke said softly. Fenris’s fingers trailed down from Hawke’s forehead, tracing along his skin. “Forgive me?” Hawke asked as Fenris’s touch lingered at the corner of his mouth.

“I suppose,” Fenris replied, and tapped his index finger firmly against Hawke’s lips.

Hawke smiled, though it wavered after a moment. “How much did he tell you? Exactly?”

“He told me about your nightmares,” Fenris replied. “That you are terrified, and unable to sleep on your own.” Fenris pulled his fingers away and frowned.

“That pretty much sums it up,” Hawke sighed. “It...it’s bad. I fall asleep and then I’m suddenly somewhere else. I’m lost and...and there’s something _watching_ me. Sometimes it speaks to me.”

“What does it say?” Fenris asked.

“I...I’m not sure,” Hawke replied. “It’s hard to remember. I just know it’s the same voice every time. It’s familiar now.”

“Surana thinks it’s a demon,” Fenris replied.

“Yeah,” Hawke said.

“What do you think?” Fenris asked.

“I don’t know,” Hawke said again. “I just...I think it’s _horrible_ , and I wish it would just stop. Which is exactly why I’m taking the sleeping draughts.” Hawke’s brow was set into a deep frown.

“Those are not a permanent solution,” Fenris reminded him.

“I know that,” Hawke replied with a huff.

Clearly this was weighing heavily on Hawke already, and Fenris didn’t want to push him any further. But…

“What if it has to do with your memories? Fenris asked.

“What?”

“This thing stalking you. Your memory loss. What if they are connected?” Fenris asked. He watched Hawke’s face as the man thought it over. Hawke breathed in. Breathed out.

“What if they are?” Hawke asked after a moment. “What could I hope to do about it?” Hawke’s voice trembled, and he was unable to meet Fenris’s gaze. He was deeply scared. Fenris’s heart ached for him, but… He couldn’t just let Hawke give up.

“I cannot say,” Fenris replied. “But it makes sense, does it not? You stayed in the Fade to fight a _Nightmare_.”

“Adaar thinks it isn’t the same thing,” Hawke said, though he didn’t sound sure of himself.

“I know what Adaar thinks, but he could be wrong,” Fenris insisted.

“Even if he is, there’s nothing to be done about it. I don’t know anything about magic or the Fade or demons or _any_ of it. I want it to just...just _stop._ ” Hawke sounded like he was starting to panic. His eyes were wide and it looked like he was starting to sweat.

Fenris reached out again and put his hand on Hawke’s forehead. “Peace, Garrett,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “You are not alone in this.” He could feel Hawke slowly relaxing under his touch. He pushed some of Hawke’s hair back and leaned in to gently press a kiss to his brow.

As he pulled back, the cogs in Fenris’s brain were already turning. Hawke wasn’t going to be much help in figuring this out, was he? The nightmares were affecting Hawke more than Fenris had realized. And not just the nightmare - any talk of the Fade put Hawke on edge. It made sense, but it was going to be a problem if the answers to Hawke’s problems lay in the realm of dreams.

“Thank you, Fenris,” Hawke said. He looked at Fenris for a moment, then hesitantly rolled toward him with an arm stretched out. Fenris met him halfway and let himself sink into Hawke’s embrace. He wrapped an arm around Hawke in return and tucked his head under the taller man’s chin.

Fenris was glad they were able to do this again. Just...lying close together, holding one another. No worrying. No expectations. He’d missed the familiar warmth of Hawke’s body pressed up against his own. And while it still wasn’t exactly the same as it had been before, it was still good. And Maker knew they both needed the comfort it provided.

Fenris closed his eyes and let himself relax. He could hear the steady rhythm of Hawke’s heart beating in his chest. As Fenris listened, he felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. If Hawke needed help dealing with these nightmares, he would have it. And if whatever was haunting him needed to be slain, Fenris would find a way to do it. No more harm would come to the man in his arms; Fenris would see to that.

But first thing was first, Fenris needed to get a clearer picture of exactly what had happened in the past, and a better idea of what was happening now. He was pretty sure he knew where to start…

 

* * *

 

And that was how the next day found Fenris following Inquisitor Adaar into Skyhold’s war room. Adaar went over to a desk to deposit his stack of papers while Fenris observed the large table that was the focal point of the room. It really was rather impressive, wasn’t it? The details of the map were striking, as was the sheer number of pieces placed about it. As his eyes roamed over the Hinterlands, he felt a flare of magic from behind him. Fenris quickly turned his head toward the source.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” Adaar said, hand still raised. He smiled sheepishly as the candles and sconces around the war room all lit themselves. “Thought we could do with a little light.”

“Ah,” Fenris said, forcing himself to relax. The room was bathed in a warm glow now.

“So,” Adaar said. He turned and leaned against the edge of the desk, which let out a little groan under his weight. “What can I do for you, Fenris?”

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest. “I wish to discuss Hawke,” he said.

“Has something happened?” Adaar asked with a frown.

Fenris paused. “I do not know how closely you have observed him as of late.”

“I...haven’t been around him as much,” Adaar said. Fenris thought he sounded embarrassed.

“You have duties,” Fenris replied.

“I do,” he said. “But that’s not a great excuse. I...I sort of kept my distance. I don’t want to intrude, and I feel a bit. Awkward, and...um.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I still feel a bit guilty,” he admitted, and rubbed at the back of his neck.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. This again?

“I know. I know,” Adaar sighed. “That isn’t what’s important now. So, to answer your question, I know that physically, he is well on his way to recovery - I’ve seen you and him in passing around the Keep. Mentally, his memories of everything before waking up here are still gone. And magically, the healer...mentioned that it’s coming back. Though I...I forget _when_ that was.”

Fenris nodded. “Recently,” he replied. “And not without complications.”

“Complications?” Adaar looked surprised.

Fenris nodded, then began to lay all of Hawke’s troubles out for Adaar - the magic, the nightmares, the strange feelings, the panic. Adaar listened silently, his eyes growing wider the longer Fenris spoke. When he was finally finished, it took Adaar a moment to respond.

Adaar looked at Fenris silently, mouth slightly agape. “I…” he finally said. “I had no idea. But...what can _I_ do to help? If the healer has no ideas, I don’t think I’ll know any better.”

“What I want to find out is if it these dreams are related to his memory loss,” Fenris said. “And to the Nightmare you left him to fight in the Fade.”

Adaar frowned at Fenris’s choice of words.

“You and Varric both told me the story,” Fenris insisted. “The Nightmare. It stole your memories. Why not Hawke’s as well?”

Adaar moved to the war table and picked up a stone piece from one of the fields. He examined it thoughtfully, turning it over in his big hands. “It just...doesn’t make sense,” Adaar replied. “It took a moment in time from me - not my whole life. Why would it do that? And then just let Hawke go?”

Fenris bristled with impatience. He didn’t know either! _None_ of this made sense to him. He was doing the best he could with what he had to go on. They wouldn’t find the truth if they didn’t examine all of the possibilities, and ruling out the Nightmare simply based on Adaar’s gut reaction was foolish! But if Fenris wanted Adaar’s help, then he couldn’t just snap that reply at him. Instead, he took a sharp breath in and then slowly let it out.

“I do not know,” Fenris replied, voice kept carefully even. “But you do not _know_ for certain either.”

“Well, no. I guess I can’t say with one-hundred percent absolute certainty that it isn’t the Nightmare,” Adaar replied. He frowned as he carefully set the piece back onto the table.

“Then it is worth looking into,” Fenris replied.

“I don’t know how you expect me to do that,” Adaar said. He rubbed at his horn in irritation. “My Fade expert up and vanished. And I can’t just...open a Rift for you two to pop in and ask if a local demon stole something.”

“I am not asking you to do that,” Fenris said. He could tell that Adaar was growing impatient. “No.body has to go there physically.”

“Then what? You want to send one of us mages in to just poke around?” Adaar was still frowning.

Fenris paused and thought about it. Yes. That...that made sense, didn’t it? He knew that with assistance, mages were able to enter the Fade without dreaming. Slowly, he nodded. “It could work, could it not?”

“Maybe…” Adaar said. He looked to Fenris, and Fenris was surprised to find the qunari’s cheeks were flushed. “I. Uh. I’m not the one you’d want in charge of that though. My magical experience is a bit more aligned with...practical applications.”

Of course. Adaar had been raised Tal-Vashoth, hadn’t he? Like Hawke himself, the Inquisitor had had very little ‘formal’ magical education.

“Your lover, then. Pavus?” Fenris asked. The woman, Vivienne, was already packing her things for her upcoming departure to Orlais. Beyond those two and the healer, Fenris didn’t trust any of the Inquisition’s other mages.

“Perhaps,” Adaar said. “Though...well. Even if somebody _does_ find it again, then what? Hawke has to be there as well. And...does it strike you as something he can do right now?”

Fenris grimaced. _Kaffas_. Adaar had a point there. All of this hinged on Hawke being able to traverse the Fade again, didn’t it? In his current state, there was no way Hawke would agree to it. Not unless…

There was a moment of perfect clarity where it all clicked into place. Yes. _Yes_. Why hadn’t he thought of it before now??

“Fenris?” Adaar was looking at him, one of his eyebrows quirked up curiously

“Apologies,” Fenris replied, straightening up. “I may have another idea.”

“What?”

“It is difficult to explain,” Fenris said. “I must speak with Varric first. To see if..if what I am thinking sounds possible.”

“Oh,” Adaar blinked. “So. Uh...you don’t need me to send my boyfriend into the Fade then?”

“If I am correct, then no,” Fenris said with a gruff laugh.

“Oh. Good. Great. I...I don’t know how well that would have gone,” Adaar said, clearly relieved.

“Thank you for your time, Inquisitor,” Fenris said.

“Sure. Any time. And I’m glad that _you_ were able to think of something, at least,” Adaar grinned.

“I must find the dwarf now.” Fenris hoped Varric was in one of his usual spots.

“Sure. I hope whatever you’re planning works. Just...keep me in the loop, yeah?” Adaar moved toward his stack of papers as Fenris went back to the door.

“Of course,” Fenris replied, and gave a short bow before letting himself out.

He would find Varric and let the dwarf be the judge of whether or not Fenris had lost his mind.

 

* * *

 

“Elf, you’re a genius,” Varric said.

They were sitting near the fireplace in the main hall, huddled together at the edge of one of the long tables. Fenris had been lucky enough to spot Varric when he’d left the war room hallway. He’d pulled the dwarf aside and quickly explained his idea. And now...

“You truly think it could work?” Fenris asked, blinking in surprise. He hadn’t expected Varric to so whole-heartedly agree.

“I don’t know if it’s a sure shot, but it’s the best idea we’ve had lately,” Varric replied. “And it makes sense!” The dwarf was grinning at him, eyes alight with the unspoken hope that they might have a real solution.

“You will make the enquiry?” Fenris asked.

“I’m going to draft up a letter right now,” Varric said, and pushed himself up out of his seat. “And borrow one of Nightingale’s fastest birds.”

Fenris nodded.

“ _You_ get to be the one to tell Hawke,” Varric added. He was smirking at Fenris now.

“Mm,” Fenris grunted.

 

* * *

 

“What? No. No no no no,” Hawke replied. “I’ve been trying my hardest to stay _out_ of the Fade. And now you’re telling me you want me to go back? _Voluntarily_??”

Hawke was sitting in his chair, looking at Fenris with wide and panicked eyes. Fenris had found him quietly reading a book he’d borrowed from the Seeker. At first, Hawke had been glad to see him. But once Fenris had told Hawke the start of his idea, his smile had quickly faded.

“It may be the key to getting your memories back,” Fenris replied. He stepped closer to the chair.

“No,” Hawke said. “I can’t. I can’t do it.” He shook his head and clutched at the borrowed book. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I do not,” Fenris agreed. He was standing right in front of Hawke now, close enough to touch him. He looked down at the man with a soft expression on his face. He hated seeing Hawke upset like this. “And I am not making light of your fear, Hawke.”

“Then...then how can you ask me to do it? To just...throw myself back in. I know it’s just my mind, but it’ll feel the same, won’t it??” Hawke’s brow was furrowed and Fenris wanted nothing more than to smooth it out with the touch of his hand.

“You will not be alone, Hawke,” Fenris said, leaning over him. He reached out and instead touched Hawke’s temple softly. He let his fingers slide back through the man’s thick hair and Hawke leaned into it.

In talking to Adaar, Fenris had realized he _knew_ already the best way to convince Hawke to return to the Fade. It was also the same way Fenris himself could see that Hawke would be protected.

Both of them would just have to go. Together.

Fenris had done it for Hawke years before, to help him save that foolish boy, Feynriel. Back then, Fenris hadn’t been strong enough to resist the temptation of the demons they’d encountered. Fenris had little love for the idea of experiencing the Fade again, but if that was what it took to help Hawke...he would go. And this time, he would not fail.

And now, while Fenris leaned over to comfort a disquieted Hawke, Varric was busy writing a letter to Merrill.

Merrill.

Varric had written to her before - about both Hawke’s death and return. And now he would write again, in the hope that she would be the answer they needed.

Why Varric hadn’t thought to seek her out before, Fenris didn’t know. Fenris’s own reasons were simple enough - he hadn’t thought of asking her because he didn’t often think of Merrill. Fenris had disagreed with her many times in the past, and had never trusted her flippant opinions on spirits and her use of blood magic. Fenris had been content to ignore her, though he did keep his guard up whenever they had to work together.

But...Fenris knew that Hawke had cared about her. And from what Fenris could tell, Merrill cared about Hawke in return. It was because she cared so much that Fenris was willing to try asking for her help. Merrill was an experienced mage, she knew about the Fade and its denizens, and she was familiar with the Dalish ritual they’d used to send them to the Fade. But most important of all, Fenris knew she would do whatever it took to help Hawke.

It made sense to tap her as a resource. If it meant that she would be able to help Hawke with his nightmares and his memories, Fenris would just have to live with his own discomfort.

“What do you mean? I won’t be alone?” Hawke asked softly. His voice pulled Fenris from his thoughts.

“You cannot keep running from your dreams, Hawke,” Fenris said. He shook his head when Hawke opened his mouth to disagree. “You know that,” Fenris added with a firm look that made Hawke immediately shut his mouth.

“There will come a time when you must face it. And I believe I have a way so that when that time comes...I will be there with you.” Fenris looked into Hawke’s amber eyes, watched them shine with something he thought might be hope.

“Oh. I...M-maybe,” Hawke huffed. As they studied one another, Fenris saw Hawke lick his lips. After a moment, Hawke craned his neck up and carefully stretched up for a kiss.

Fenris obliged him. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Hawke’s. This kiss was soft. Warm. Not quite chaste, but with nowhere near the heat of that kiss on the battlements. This kiss was reassurance. A promise that Fenris meant what he said - he would do everything he could to help Hawke.

Hawke’s shaky hand moved up to gently hold the back of Fenris’s neck. His lips parted and his tongue swiped along Fenris’s lips, as if asking for an invitation. Fenris smiled into the kiss, but...no. He carefully pulled back a little, breaking the kiss. Hawke’s hand was still warm on his neck.

“We did not negotiate this kiss beforehand, Garrett Hawke,” Fenris said. He was a little surprised by how husky his own voice sounded. Hawke, on the other hand, was delighted by it. Fenris watched as Hawke bit his own lip to hold back a noise.

“Y-you’re one to talk,” Hawke said. “You’re just kissing me to bribe me.” He gave Fenris a half-hearted glare, though they still remained close to one another.

“Did it work?” Fenris asked.

“Maybe,” Hawke replied, eyes darting to the side. “I’ll...I’ll consider it, okay? The Fade thing.”

Fenris nodded. It wasn’t a firm commitment, but it was a good first step. Fenris would take a ‘maybe’. He would also take another kiss. He did so, pressing his lips briefly to Hawke’s bearded cheek.

“We will discuss it further once I have word from Varric,” Fenris said. He stood up straight, causing Hawke to pull his hand away from his neck.

“You _still_ didn’t explain how I won’t be alone,” Hawke said, looking up at him with a frown.

Fenris held out a hand. Hawke took it and grunted as he was pulled up from the chair.

“Come,” Fenris said. “We shall have our walk, and I will tell you the truth of a certain chapter of Varric’s book…”


	24. A Good Night's Sleep

A week had passed since Fenris had explained his idea to Hawke. If Hawke still had doubts about Fenris’s new plan, he kept them to himself. It was better to just put it all out of his mind. That was easier said than done though, especially since Hawke’s nightmares were returning.

They weren’t as vivid as they had been, more like flashes and vague notions of _something_ happening. On the two most recent mornings, he’d awoken with a feeling of unease. As he lay staring up at the ceiling, his feelings turned to those of despair. Surana’s sleeping draught was starting to fail, just as predicted.

 

* * *

 

_Running. Walking. Crawling._

_Everything hurts and the air is wrong._

_The colors aren’t right._

_And he..._

_He just needed to find…_

 

* * *

 

Hawke woke with a gasp. He clutched at his blanket and stared up into the darkness of his room. Shit. Shit. Shit. He willed himself to calm down. How long had he even been asleep? He turned his head to look at the fireplace and found the flames were low in the grate. After midnight then...

Hawke sat up with a groan. So, he was back to being unable to sleep through the night, even _with_ the potion. “Great,” he muttered to himself. He grunted as he pulled himself out of bed, then let out a hiss at how chilly everything felt without his blanket. Well, it couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t going back to sleep right now.

He started off by poking at the fire. When he tried to use magic to stoke it, it flared up and nearly shot out of the fireplace at him. He swore aloud and jumped back. Nope. Nevermind. Let it die then. 

A few minutes later, Hawke quietly left his room wearing his sleeping clothes, a pair of slippers and his blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He’d just let himself walk the keep for a bit, and hopefully it would help calm his nerves. It was late enough that there weren’t many people up and about. If he went to the tavern, he might be able to find some company there, but…

Instead, he pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders and contented himself with wandering.

Hawke roamed the halls, nodding to the few people he saw in passing. He wondered what sort of sight he must make - the Champion of Kirkwall, clad in blanket armor and sporting bedhead and bags under his eyes. It was enough to make him chuckle.

Eventually, he found himself shuffling down a familiar hall. If he kept going, he’d soon arrive at Fenris’s quarters. For a moment, he considered knocking on Fenris’s door; it might be good to see him now. But Maker, it was so late, and he really didn’t want to bother Fenris at this hour. No, it was a bad idea...

Hawke decided to do it anyway.

Fenris _had_ told Hawke to come to him whenever he was needed, and this felt like one of those times.

Hawke stopped outside of Fenris’s door. He took a steadying breath before he reached up and knocked. He waited for a second, then prepared to knock again. He was mid-knock when the door suddenly opened. “Oh,” Hawke gasped.

“Hawke?” Fenris was looking at him and blinking sleep from his eyes. His white hair was loose and delightfully messy. “What is it? Has something happened?” He opened the door a little more, so Hawke was able to see into the dim room behind him. Fenris’s room had no fireplace, but there was a single window. The curtains were open, allowing soft moonlight to filter in.

“Hawke,” Fenris repeated. It snapped Hawke out of his momentary daze.

“Sorry,” Hawke said. “I…” He looked down at himself and realized just how ridiculous his appearance was. Damn it. He looked back up and met Fenris’s concerned gaze. “I had a nightmare,” he said.

Fenris’s expression softened. “So Surana’s draughts…”

“Aren’t working anymore,” Hawke said with a sigh. “I was just up and walking around. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have bothered you. I just…”

“There is no need to apologize,” Fenris said. “Come in.” He stepped back to allow Hawke to enter. Hawke could see that Fenris was wearing an oversized shirt and faded leggings. 

“Thanks,” Hawke murmured as he shuffled inside. Fenris shut the door behind them and moved to the bedside table. There was a spark and a little flare of light as he lit a candle. Hawke looked around. He’d been here a few times before, but really only in passing. Fenris’s quarters were smaller than his own. There was only the bed, a chest of drawers, and a single chair near the window. Oh, and a weapon rack near the door. Candlelight flickered and reflected off of the surface of the wicked-looking greatsword that was resting in it.

“Sit,” Fenris said, and gestured to the edge of the bed. “Tell me. Are your nightmares the same as before?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Hawke admitted. He sat down on the edge of the bed, blanket still around his shoulders. Fenris perched next to him, watching his face carefully. “I can’t remember anything this time. I just...I woke up, knowing that something _wrong_ had happened.”

“Is this the first time?” Fenris asked.

“No,” Hawke said. “I don’t think so, anyway. The past few mornings, I just...I woke with this _feeling._. I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t say anything.”

“Surana said the potions would lose their efficacy,” Fenris said.

“I know,” Hawke sighed. “I know he did. I just...I’d hoped it would take longer.” He closed his eyes. He felt a hand on his shoulder and leaned into the touch.

“We will hear back from Merrill soon,” Fenris murmured. His touch was hesitant. Gentle. But it made Hawke feel better all the same.

“With good news, I hope,” Hawke replied.

“That is the hope,” Fenris agreed. “Until then…”

“Until then, I guess I’ll keep modeling my blanket for the overnight Skyhold staff.”

Fenris snorted. “It is rather fetching,” he said, giving Hawke’s shoulder a squeeze before letting go.

Hawke decided he was glad he’d knocked on Fenris’s door. He was already feeling a little less rattled, a little less on-edge. Maybe...would it be too much of him to ask? He looked over at Fenris, whose face was lit by the warm candlelight. A bit of it reflected off his eyes as he regarded Hawke in return.

“Can...can I stay here with you tonight?” Hawke asked.

Fenris’s eyes widened in surprise. “I…”

Shit! Had he just actually asked that? What was he thinking?! 

“Wait. No, no. Forget it,” Hawke quickly said. “It was too much of me to ask. We agreed to this...this thing between us. And here I am, asking you to just ignore all of that because I can’t sleep. It’s fine. Really. I should…”

“Hawke,” Fenris said. He reached up and grasped Hawke’s chin with one hand. He brought his other hand up and pressed his fingers to Hawke’s lips to shush him. Hawke immediately fell silent.

“Yes,” Fenris said, looking at him. “You may stay. _Quietly_.” He waited a second before pulling his fingers away from Hawke’s lips 

“Oh,” Hawke replied. Fenris released his chin and patted his cheek. “I….all right then. That’s easy enough, isn’t it?” His cheeks were flushed now.

“It really is,” Fenris said. “Do you wish to lie down? Or do you have more modeling to do?” His lips quirked up in a smirk.

Hawke barked out a laugh. “No, I believe I can retire the blanket for the night,” he said. He slid his slippers off and began to scoot himself back onto the bed. “But not really. Maker, do you have enough piled on here?” He’d unwrapped himself from his own, only to find himself trying to navigate Fenris’s hoard of them. The elf had to be sleeping with at least four blankets!

“I dislike the cold,” Fenris replied with a sniff. He crawled under the covers next to Hawke before leaning over to blow out the candle. He settled on his side, his back to Hawke.

“Of course,” Hawke chuckled. Maker, he was going to be sweating tonight, wasn’t he? He shifted, trying to get comfortable. Hmm. He rolled onto his side, careful to keep from getting too close. It was hard to do; Fenris’s bed wasn’t as large as his own. “Sorry,” he said when his arm brushed against Fenris’s back.

“I do not mind,” Fenris murmured.

“Oh…” Hawke reached out and tentatively touched Fenris’s shoulder. Despite his words, Fernis felt tense. Hawke kept his touch gentle. “Thank you for letting me stay,” he said, voice soft.

“You’re welcome,” Fenris said. He slowly began to relax under Hawke’s touch. “...your hand is warm.”

“Yeah,” Hawke agreed. “So is the rest of me. I’m going to roast under all these blankets.”

“You were always a good source of heat,” Fenris chuckled.

“Well, that hasn’t changed much…”

“No, I suppose not,” Fenris replied. He brought a hand up over his own shoulder and let it rest on top of Hawke’s. “Goodnight, Garrett.” Fenris squeezed his hand once before pulling away.

“Good night.” Hawke closed his eyes and let himself relax. He let his hand fall away from Fenris’s back after a moment and instead concentrated on listening to the elf’s breathing. _This is nice_ , Hawke thought to himself. Being here next to Fenris felt...right.

Though, most of the other times he’d imagined sharing a bed with Fenris, the two of them had been a lot more naked. Hawke tried _not_ to think of that right now. It wasn’t the best time to start dredging up his latest masturbatory fantasies.

Instead, he let his own breathing even out. This time, he would go to sleep and everything would be fine. He was safe here, with Fenris.

Maybe…

Hawke drifted off.

 

* * *

 

There is a harsh wind blowing. It stings his skin. The air itself seems _heavy_ and burns when he inhales.

Green. Everything is tinged with green.

He knows this place. He hates this place.

Hawke turns and looks out over a craggy field of stone. Rocks jut up from the ground in great misshapen spires while dark water flows down from the sky.

“No,” Hawke says. He is here. Again. He looks down and sees he is barefoot and wearing the clothes he fell asleep in. “Fuck,” he whispers to the sour wind.

In the distance, there is something almost familiar. A huge shell. Something rotten. The remains of some giant and unnatural thing.

Hawke turns from it and walks away. Everything feels more real now.

He can sense when he _moves._ A shiver rolls over his skin and his surroundings melt away as he is taken somewhere new.

The ground under his feet is softer now. A small house lays before him. The sunlight feels almost real on his skin.

He is not alone.

A man stands outside the house. Waiting. Watching.

A dark beard strung with silver. Pale skin. A strong frame withered by disease. When Hawke meets his gaze, he recognizes the eyes - though they are sunken and dull, they are just like Hawke’s.

“What…” Hawke whispers.

_Garrett_. The voice comes from behind him and sounds more like a death rattle than his name.

Hawke whips around. Nothing.

When he looks back to the house, it is gone. 

Instead, there is a lonely road laid out before him. Smoke is in the air and there are screams somewhere in the distance.

A girl stands in the middle of the road, her back to Hawke. She has long dark hair, but there is something…

She turns to face him and Hawke sees that her body is broken. Wrong. 

She is dead.

She smiles at him and Hawke bites back a scream. When she opens her mouth, blood flows freely down her chin.

_Brother_. The word is wet.

Hawke backs away. Turns. Runs. 

The road is rough against his bare feet and changes as he runs. Hard-packed dirt changes to stone. The light fades away and he is somewhere new. Somewhere dark. Underground.

His heart pounds in his chest and he looks around wildly. A dream. This is a dream. He just needs to wake up. 

He skids to a stop when he nearly runs into somebody. A young man is standing before him. Large, just as broad as Hawke, but not quite as tall. He stares at Hawke with milky eyes. His skin is tinged grey and laced with black veins.

_Brother..._

The young man reaches out for Hawke, who backpedals. He loses his balance and falls backward with a gasp.

When Hawke hits the ground, he is somewhere new. He looks around, eyes wide.

There are tables around him. A stone floor. The smell of blood and rot in the air. There is somebody on the floor near him. A figure, clad in all white.

No. No no no no.

He can’t stop himself from crawling up onto his knees and leaning in to see them. To see her. It’s a woman, lying there with her eyes closed. There’s something wrong with her neck. It’s...not _her_ neck, is it?  Bile rises in Hawke’s throat and he starts to recall something. This _happened_ , didn’t it?

The woman opens her dead eyes.

_My boy…_

Hawke closes his eyes. Wake up wake up wake up. _Wake up._

When he opens his eyes, the woman is gone. So is the room. 

He is somewhere softer. Grass under his knees instead of hard stone. A gentle breeze rustles his hair. It smells fresh. _Real_. He’s in some sort of forest clearing. There are trees shrouded in mist just beyond the edge of his vision.

“You’re here,” a voice beside him says. 

Hawke turns and finds himself looking at...himself. The other Hawke is sitting cross-legged on the grass right next to him, looking far too relaxed. Hawke’s breath catches in his throat and he scoots away to put distance between them. The other Hawke seems amused. 

He’s dressed in leather and fur. A wicked metal piece covers his right arm. His left is bare and muscled. The other Hawke is looking at him with golden eyes that seem to glow. They’re cold.

“You finally came,” the other Hawke says, and pulls himself up to his feet. He’s looming over Hawke. “I hoped you would. We have business.”

“I...what…” Hawke tries not to be intimidated, but the other Hawke cuts quite an impressive figure. Did he really used to look like _that_? “Wait. You’re the one that’s been following me. Aren’t you??”

The other Hawke smirks down at him.

“What do you want?” Hawke demands.

“What do I want? I want what’s _mine_ ,” the other Hawke replies. “I want what you took from me!”

Hawke stares at him, utterly confused. This doesn’t make any sense! The other Hawke is reaching down for him now.

“No!” Hawke cries out. He raises an arm to fend the other Hawke off. A blast of pure force magic erupts out of him and the other Hawke is sent flying through the air. Hawke’s eyes widen and the other Hawke lands in the grass a fair distance away.

Not wasting his chance, Hawke scrambles to his feet and takes off into the fog. He doesn’t know where he’s going; he just needs to be somewhere, _anywhere_ else. Hawke hears the angry cry of his own voice echoing behind him.

Hawke runs. The fog is thick and taking on a vaguely green tinge. Of course it is. 

Step after step after step. He knows that this is a dream; he is in the Fade. But this is _his_ dream and he will not let himself tire. And somehow...it works. Though he’s afraid, he’s coming to realize that he’s also _strong_. 

And so, Hawke keeps running.

 

* * *

 

Hawke was still running through the Fade when he suddenly found himself snapping back to consciousness. He took a shaky breath and tried to roll over. But...he couldn’t. There was something holding him in place.

Hawke blinked and remembered that he’d gone to sleep in Fenris’s bed earlier. Well, that explained why he was sweating, and also why there was a white-haired elf pressed up against his chest. Hawke immediately stilled, afraid of waking Fenris. Their legs were tangled together and Fenris’s hand was clutching at the fabric of Hawke’s shirt.

Hawke felt his heart swell a little at the intimacy of it. The disturbing memory of his dream was still lingering in the back of his mind, but it was hard to concentrate on it now that he knew Fenris was so close to him. Close, and...glowing. 

There was a soft blue glow emanating from Fenris’s markings. It seemed to just be the ones that were closest to Hawke, but it was hard to tell. Most of Fenris himself seemed to be close. As Hawke watched, Fenris murmured something and buried his face into Hawke’s chest. 

Hawke bit his lip to keep from celebrating too loudly. Instead, he made himself relax again. He didn’t want to disturb Fenris. He did manage to crane his neck to steal a glance out the window. The sky was lightening, but the sun wasn’t quite up yet. Well, he was going to be waiting a little while, wasn’t he?

He might as well make the best of it…

He let out a sigh and wrapped an arm around Fenris, who didn’t seem to be glowing anymore. If he was going to be lying awake in bed for a few hours, he couldn’t think of any better way to do it.

Of course, it only took a few minutes for Hawke to fall asleep again.

Surprisingly, his dreams were...unremarkable. When he woke up again, he found himself alone in the bed. Sunlight filtered in through the window as he sat up and yawned silently. Huh. 

He looked over and found Fenris standing in front of the window. The elf was already dressed for the day. As Hawke watched, Fenris raised his hands above his head, then bent over to reach down and touch the floor. Hawke was afforded with a rather nice view of his ass.

“Good morning,” Fenris said, still in the middle of his stretching.

Startled, Hawke grabbed at the blankets and pushed them back. He hadn’t been staring. Not at all!! “G’morning,” Hawke replied.

“How was your sleep?” Fenris asked. He slowly straightened up, though he kept his arms above his head. He rose to the balls of his feet and held the pose.

“I. Um…” He thought back to the one dream he could clearly remember. “Strange,” he decided, then pulled himself to the edge of the bed. 

“Do you wish to talk about it?” Fenris asked. He turned his head so he could look back at Hawke.

“Not...not yet,” Hawke replied. He winced as he planted his bare feet on the floor and stood.

“Mm,” Fenris said, and turned his head away. Apparently he wasn’t going to push the issue; Hawke felt a surge of relief.

“What are you doing?” Hawke asked. Perhaps they could talk about his dreams later, after Hawke had time to mull them over alone.

“My morning routine,” Fenris replied, dropping back onto his heels. He bent over again and touched the floor. “Care to join me?” 

“Me?” Hawke had to rip his gaze away from the elf’s ass again. “I..Um.” He knew he was supposed to be working his muscles more, now that he was in the latter stages of his recovery. He’d just...fallen behind. “Sure,” he said, and approached Fenris.

“You’ll have to teach me,” Hawke said as Fenris stood up straight.

“Of course,” Fenris agreed with a little smirk. He moved in and guided Hawke’s arms up above his head. Fenris smirked at him. “I have but one rule - no crying.”

“Wait, _what_?”

 

* * *

 

Hawke broke Fenris’s rule about halfway through their lesson; he was discovering muscles he never knew he possessed, and it _hurt_. But...he got through it. Red-faced and sweating, he got through it. Fenris had chuckled his way through the whole ordeal, the bastard.

It had been a good distraction from his troubling dream though.

In fact, Hawke pushed it to the back of his mind and enjoyed the rest of his day. He spent it hobbling around Skyhold and reading in the garden. Fenris was with him for a lot of it, and the elf didn’t pry. It seemed he was going to let Hawke speak in his own time.

That evening, Hawke joined Varric for dinner at the Herald’s Rest. The two of them claimed a table on the second floor and settled in to chat. The tavern was relatively calm that evening, with their conversation being punctuated by rousing cheers from below only once or twice. Hawke would have to ask Fenris later what all the noise was about; the elf was downstairs, sharing his own meal with the Chargers.

The food was decent enough, and Hawke felt pleasantly warm from the ale Varric had ordered for him. Their conversation was light. Friendly. Varric shared the gossip he’d heard from around the keep, and Hawke was happy to listen. They got through most of their dinner without Hawke having to dwell his most recent nightmare. Until…

“Oh, that reminds me,” Varric said, taking a quick drink from his mug of ale. “I got some letters today - one of them was from Carver.”

“My brother?”

“The one and only,” Varric replied. “He says he’s glad you’re alive, that of course you’d find a way to upstage even your own death.” Varric chuckled. “He’s on his way to Weisshaupt now - checking in there with Stroud on behalf of the Inquisition. But after that, he’s coming back to see you.”

Hawke nodded. “So, he’ll meet us here then. Some day…” Hawke found himself distracted at the thought of Carver returning. Carver Hawke. Hawke’s last living family. It would be good to meet him, wouldn’t it?

“Here?” Varric repeated. “That’s...that’s another thing.” Varric hesitated, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure. Hawke didn’t notice; he was too busy thinking about his brother and wondering.

“Varric,” Hawke said. “Carver, he...he’s a little shorter than me, right? Muscles though. Big arms.” This was the time to confirm his suspicion, wasn’t it? “Dark hair… Did he keep it cut short?”

Varric was silent. He stared at Hawke for a moment, eyes wide. “Yes,” he finally replied. “That’s Junior. Wait a second, Hawke. Are you telling me you’re remembering something? You’re remembering _Carver?”_ Varric laughed and smacked the table. “Oh. Oh shit. He’s going to love this. Hawke!”

“It’s not a memory,” Hawke quickly said. “At least. I...I don’t think it is. I don’t know.” Rather than feeling excited at the confirmation, Hawke instead felt his stomach twisting. 

“What do you mean?” Varric asked. “What’s going on?” He leaned forward, all trace of laughter gone.

Hawke frowned and looked down at his ale. “Well…”

Varric already knew about Hawke’s strange dreams, as well as his reliance on the healer’s sleeping potions. So, Hawke described the previous night, starting with the nightmare that had led him to Fenris’s bed. The strange winding dream that had followed. The sense of being somewhere familiar and somehow _real._ The macabre procession of visitors. Then, the final talk with ‘himself’ at the end of things. 

Varric let him speak without any interruptions. Hawke spoke quickly, his voice taking on a nervous pitch that strayed toward the manic when it came to describing the other Hawke. When he was finally finished, Hawke took a long drink of ale.

The dwarf gave out a low whistle. “Well,” he said, leaning forward with his arms on the table. “Hawke. That is...fucked up.”

Hawke snorted into his ale. “You think?

“I _do_ think,” Varric said, and shook his head. “Shit, Hawke. Well. I’m not the best person to consult on dream interpretation. But...I mean. Those sound like memories to me. Fucked up ones, but still…”

Hawke shuddered his own recollection. “So...that was my family then.”

“Sounds like it ,” Varric replied. “When they died...” He frowned and watched Hawke’s face carefully.

“But Carver didn’t die,” Hawke pointed out.

“No, he didn’t,” Varric agreed. “But...Hawke, I was there. He was as good as dead before those Wardens saved him. And even after that, you...you mourned his loss.”

“I see,” Hawke said softly. “I just don’t understand why this is happening now. And...that other me at the end. Varric, it felt so _real_.”

“Maybe because you were there,” Varric suggested. “So it’ll keep on feeling real to you? I don’t know, Hawke. This is all over my head.”

“Mine too,” Hawke replied with a sigh. “I…” Hawke bit his lip, not quite sure how to express something that was nagging at the back of his mind. “Varric,” he began. “I’m...I’m me, aren’t I?” he asked. “I’m actually Garrett Hawke, right?”

Whatever Varric was expecting, that wasn’t it. He stared at Hawke, mouth agape.

“i just...I wonder, sometimes. I mean. I can’t remember anything. So it makes sense, in a way.”

“Hawke,” Varric said.

“What if I’m just...just some _thing_ from the Fade. A spirit or something. Like that strange boy with the hat.” Hawke was rambling. Now that his fears were finally being dragged out into the light, it was hard for him to stop.

“Hawke.”

“And I’m just pretending to be Hawke. And that...that’s the real Hawke. Still stuck in the Fade,” Hawke babbled.

“Hawke!!” Varric was trying to get his attention, to no avail.

“Or I’m possessed. Or none of this is real and I’m just me in the Fade, imagining all of this. Maybe you’re not real. Or…”

_“Garrett.”_

Had Varric just used Hawke’s first name?? Hawke shut his mouth immediately and looked at his friend, eyes wide.

“Well, that got your attention,” Varric said with a grim smile. “Now, I’m going to stop you right here and now.” He pointed a finger at Hawke from across the table. “You. Are. Garrett. Hawke,” he said, emphasizing each word with a jab of his finger. 

“You’re not some spirit turned human - believe me. We _checked_. And you’re not still stuck in the Fade either. If you were, your illusion would be a hell of lot better than this.” He gestured around to the tavern. “So take a deep breath and stop asking stupid questions.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. Hey! Should he feel insulted??

“Hawke,” Varric said, giving him a _look_. “Don’t get me wrong - your nightmare sounded pretty fucked up. But it was a bad dream, and it’s probably just the same demon fucking with you.”

“But it was... _me_ ,” Hawke said weakly. “And it used memories against me. Ones I don’t even _have_!”

“I know. Like I said - that’s fucked up.” Varric sighed. “But that’s the Fade for you. And demons. And all of this weird shit in general.” He made a face, then drained his ale.

“Have you told Fenris about it?” Varric asked as he set the mug down. His voice was a little more gentle.

“No, not yet,” Hawke replied. He felt a bit calmer now that Varric had forced him to stop and _think_ for a moment. “I’ve been trying not to think about it. But talking about Carver, I just…”

Varric nodded. “Well, I’m sure he’ll want to know…”

Hawke nodded solemnly and picked up his mug. He’d stop putting it off.

Varric drummed his fingers on the table, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I was going to wait until I had the two of you together again to bring this up,” he said. “But...maybe you need to hear it now.” 

Hawke looked at him curiously, mug held halfway up to his lips for a drink. 

“I got a letter from Merrill today too,” Varric said.

“Really?” Hawke sat up a little straighter.

“Yeah. I was waiting to tell both you and Fenris.”

“Did she say she can she help me? Is she on her way here now?” Hawke set his mug down, drink forgotten. He was still skeptical that this would be the cure-all he needed, but he’d take what he could get.

“She said she could _try_ ,” Varric replied. “But…she’s not coming to Skyhold.”

“What?” Hawke wilted a little. “..why not?”

“Because I didn’t ask her to,” Varric replied. “I just asked if she could help, and what it would entail. She has a life in Kirkwall, Hawke. Hell, from what my contacts have told me, Daisy’s half of what’s been helping hold the Alienage together since the city went to complete shit.”

_Well, then what was the point of sending her the letter?_ Not unless… Hawke looked at Varric, the pieces falling together in his mind. “You want me to go back to Kirkwall,” he said slowly.

“I think it’s time,” Varric said with a nod. “ _I_ want to go back. It’s a shithole, but it’s _my_ shithole, and I’ve been away for a long time. But you...well. I’m not going to make the decision for you, Hawke. If you really don’t want to go, I can send another bird and tell Merrill to hop on the next ship south.”

Hawke bit his lip. Kirkwall, huh?

“I thought...I thought I ran from the city. That I was a fugitive because of everything that happened,” Hawke said.

“You were. You probably still are. But you’re still a hero too. They can’t un-make you the Champion! Besides, the war’s over, and we’re on a first-name basis with the fucking Inquisitor _and_ the next Divine.” Varric waved his hand, like he was clearing away Hawke’s worries. “We have enough clout behind us to get you back into Kirkwall.”

“I guess…”

“I don’t want to pressure you, Hawke. It’s still your life we’re talking about here. If you don’t want to go back, you don’t have to.” Varric smiled at him.

“I guess I’m just feeling overwhelmed,” Hawke replied. He brought a hand up and rubbed at his beard. 

“Well, if anybody has a good reason to feel overwhelmed, I think it’s you,” Varric chuckled.

Hawke cracked a little smile at that.

“Look, maybe it will be good for you to get out of Skyhold and back to somewhere that should be more familiar. Maybe being in your own home, sleeping in your own bed...it might be good for you.”

Hawke considered it. He’d gotten used to roaming the Keep. He’d grown to like his room. He recognized servants when he passed them in the hall. He knew the shortcuts and best hiding places. But… this wasn’t the place he was supposed to be. Somehow, he could feel that.

“All right,” Hawke said after a moment. “I think you might be right. But...I want to talk to Fenris first and see what he thinks.”

 

* * *

 

When Fenris joined them upstairs later that evening, he was a little tipsy from whatever drinks he’d shared with the Chargers. Though as Hawke explained everything to him, he quickly began to sober up. By the end, he was watching Hawke with a rather dour expression on his face. 

Fenris agreed with Varric when it came to Hawke’s dreams.

Surprisingly though, he refrained from urging Hawke to return to Kirkwall. But...didn’t encourage him to stay at Skyhold either. He simply said, “I trust your judgment, Hawke. I will stand with your decision, and follow where you go.”

It made Hawke’s heart swell to hear, but also didn’t _help_ him very much. He rubbed at his temple and tried to mentally weigh his options. It was hard to do with Fenris sitting right next to him, warm and close and making grand declarations. In the end, Hawke decided he needed to take a chance.

“I’ll do it,” he told Varric.

He would go back to Kirkwall.

 

* * *

 

Hawke flopped into his bed some time well after midnight. Potion forgotten, Hawke instead curled up with an arm around Fenris. The elf was asleep before Hawke even got a chance to pull the covers up over them. It didn’t take Hawke long to follow.

That night, Hawke dreamt he was running. He felt stronger. More sure. He had no destination. No goal beyond _don’t stop_. 

So, Hawke ran.

And in the distance, something watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for sticking with me and reading! You can still find me on [Tumblr](http://minwrathous.tumblr.com).


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